You know what The Bone loves? Doctors and nurses. I love me some hospital, that's for sure. When I was getting injections into my neck for a slipped disc, I got to know the folks so well they would shoot me up only halfway with the Propofol and let me zone out for a few minutes before giving me the rest. I sure enjoyed those three or four minutes of bliss.
So, I've always been interested in medical things, and I love the attention I get in the hospital. But there's a dark side as well. Once I caught my doctor (my regular, go-to doc) checking the internet for information about some symptoms I had. The internet! The same place you get your free Boning!
Also, due to an incident in my formative years, I'm a bit interested in getting dosed. The idea of ingesting something and going on an unplanned adventure is appealing, even though the genesis of my screwed up wants was terrible indeed. And just how much blood does a baby hold? 270ml, according to the internet. That's about 9 shots of tequila if the person pouring is a bit heavy. So, if you can handle 9.2 shots of tequila, you could technically vampire to death an innocent little baby. Congrats!
Anywho, here's a free poem. This will hurt me more than it will hurt you:
Oh, yeah! I just remembered this is an ekphrastic poem, from Vic Reynolds' "Becoming Light" artwork. His website is down, but he was an art teacher at Wayne State College and one of my favorite profs, even though I never took a class with him.
Becoming Light
Your doctor wants
to do something
to you.
He wants to see
just
how
much
blood
your baby has
inside her.
He has the most
savage of ideas.
None more noble
than
tinkering with
your
synapses.
He wants to see
if you can become
meat.
He’s keeping a
chart on you beside your bed.
He claps his
hands when you react
a certain way
from
the medicine
he gives you.
He has vials of
it,
some smoking, all
colored in bright steaming
rainbows.
He says they will
deliver you.
When the needle
goes in and you are startled,
he scribbles in
notebooks and binders.
He would like you
to become what he
interprets
as stable.
He wants you to
know that although you are nervous,
it was never
your
fault. He can make it
go away
if you let
him. And you have to,
because
He’s a doctor.
And he’s
becoming,
he’s becoming
immortal –
he’s becoming
giddy;
and he’s becoming
light
as you are
becoming
nothing
but whispers
and
vapor.
