Poem to the Hospital

To look at me in a typical patient's room,
the only meeting space replete with radiant heat and 700 meals per day,
I'm an amalgam in two parts,
a tipsy astronaut hunting for car keys,
plus a table that's reserved for a party of six at which
one of Raul Julia's eyeballs has fallen out
-great, I've got an earring and a contact to find too-
whether I'm throwing fish for the peace corps
or playing pen to the hospital,
I'm a fast, friendly employee with ring around a collar
that's as blue as a noose face with "oxygen in use" taped
all over its suitcase,
this kind of freedom only feels like wearing sneakers in the pool.
the freedom will the dumb dumb monkey drum bring...
in life, this terrific procedure, TV has become the anti-drug.

all play dead on the elevator...

we the poor sportsmen of the apocalypse
the heavy heavy hitters in the modern spit tray
have tried to find a place for trust.
i will play the shit in snow, if you can play your cards right
and together we can win the coolest-calmest-disposition-in-the-face-of-hotel-fire award.
and i will mesmerize magnum pi live
in a skirt at the Berkeley circulation desk
and I'll imagine a little lab technician with sharkleberry fin underneath her skin
and i will face the white wig, but I'll not throw away my fire.