Surgeons of soundless suffering, led by ministers of madness,
The dead drown whilst muttering of intolerable sadness.
Atop the tallest towers of the dark city
Aloft spires of insanity, so do they weave
the existential lies of mortality.
Where the living are led to conceive and so believe
That which is mad, continuously the surgeons weave
And knit half truths of life, disguising words of strife
with lies as their knife unto the remains of humanity.
Surgeons who cut and tear with
Words too elaborate to question or mentally bare
or visually see.
The ministers of madness, feed the masses with words
That ought to be the chirping of birds,
Words that sound near obliterate
born of tongueless mouths that art illiterate.
A surgeon dreams of slicing livers.
A dentist dreams of teeth and gums.
Proctologists envision fingers
and thumbs.
They want to be brain surgeons, astronauts, movie stars,
NFL quarterbacks, influencers, video game designers, dancers
Their excited energy lifts into a pink cloud of happiness
It zooms over my head and dances around the room
They share their illusions of grandeur with excited giggles
They are my Girl Scouts, and I have no idea what I am doing
Having a slumber party with eighteen super excited girls.
All I want to do is have a cup of coffee and go back to bed.
They begin chanting their breakfast demands; their energy intimidates me.
I paste on my fake morning face hoping I can survive two more hours.
Poets and plastic surgeons-whittling away
adding here, subtracting there
bandaging a verse or stitching a face
trying to make plain into pretty
perfection just a small slice away.
A masterpiece is what they seek
A mountain of trash for every gem
cutting and slicing stretching and trimming
seeking the perfect profile or seamless rhyme,
but filling the world with rivers of gibberish
and mirror obsessed Frankensteins.
Hands of Surgeons
Our friend Bob Lynott is undergoing
cancer surgery today at Duke University.
God, hands of surgeons be sure to guide;
Who we trust and on them have relied;
Now is not near;
Our prayers hear;
Give them things needed and not denied.
Jim Horn
This should be sent out to each member of
St. James Episcopal Church, Shallotte, NC.
Hope he will be here singing in choir this
Sunday with his great tenor voice.
Believe you me, are business workers
dealing in raw flesh and bones
but they are often broke
because consumers exist not
in this world of flesh
I wait and wonder
What life will bring
When i am well again
Will my heart sing.
I wait for the news
Of an op to replace
This heart of mine
A new future to face
The surgeon will come
In a day or so
Until i have surgery
Home, i dont go
Must stay here and rest
Watch the world go by,
Try to keep smiling
Try not to cry
I cry for myself,
My friends, my all,
Were all waiting
For the surgeons call.