Steroid Sleeplessness

short, fantasy-like stories have been passing

through my subconsciousness every quarter

hour like a stalker who cannot decide on prey;

eyes are not hurting or bloodshot or heavy or glazed over

like one who has not slept for days while hunger

has disappeared too quickly making no sense at all

as just the opposite it should be and on that

which we all know is not healthy and then it appears,

circus ponds forming at the edge of mental nothingness,

an existential view digressing into sitting on the

bench with Sartre and being transformed into

a meaningless Kafka like mutant fate; and yet, 

all these satirical themes hang from mental ceilings

as if providing decorative narratives for Senior Proms

in a Middle Eastern land where none of the rituals,

it would appear, were ever practiced once even;

divorced indifference practices Washington's Minuet

in powdered wigs and three cornered hats while

speculation perceives more documents signed;

stories of adults being adults in adulterous ways

manifest openly in my shallow mind this day

like a coincidence readies itself to be repeated

and presentation skills are practiced unwillingly;

racks of lamb hang in coveted galley galleries

waiting to be carved and served to frustrated

angry listeners who have yet to hear the completed

version of our their newly released thoughts;

bodily function difficulties are the last members

of the parade but the first to greet the morning

once their words have been written and all the

flavored coffee drowned like in the Boston Harbor;

but still, there was no sleep this night like before

when indulging too much on chemo and steroids.

16Aug14