dying poems

today relied on artlessness
and not even putrid hospital poetics can drill through this structure that was once soft like the feeling of home, warm sheets and loving wake-up calls.

today relied on artlessness
and I hate hospitals because I am nothing like the wire fissioned into these bones
nor the lungs so full of what the heart could not pump
and they can not help us if we are already drenched with what we tried to inspire
and they've never held anything in place

today relied on how much i hate hospitals
the cleaving to death, the distrust in the artistic
I could read all our dying poems by the fuck ups of materials that spilled onto the floor
hospital blankets, cheap jewelry, saliva,smashed fingers, all that you've been fighting tokeep inside of you, spat back out onto your chest
and i hate hospitals because even sedatives did not allow for the abandonment of emotional arrest,

but maybe that's just artlessness
and it's all we can allow for
until we just overflow onto our fur and seep lymph from these fragile bones and valves worn so thin from years of scratching at doors
hoping someone will release us from ourselves

and although artlessness has not yet found me relief
i hope you found yours,
goodnight my little sweet.