June 10, 2019
The MRI Vault is like a space center, cold and noisy, like a seat belt alarm, but louder. I kept waiting to be ejected to the moon like a rocket. Instead, I was shot, eight times with a needle, so full of holes, that there’s nothing left.

The Healing Art

When there’s no hope left in the flesh
cling to the Lord which is best
the Great Physician is in practice still
no violent break downs or instability
no moans of sickness if only you pass through — Jeremiah 14:8
build in me a new system and solve this confusion
speak to my disease from many miles away
this medication won’t chase Satan away
marshal to my side in straight lines a lighthouse
filled with armed angels who understand the fight
a hunting ground overrun the limits of wild hearts
shooting more than floating germs of death in the dark