poems.

easiest hobbies to learn

most interesting hobbies to learn

cheapest hobbies to be the most interesting

how many psi can human lungs handle

how many days are left in the summer time

i first saw you

in the cold protvino lab

with your cathode-ray tubes tied up way out of your face

watching from afar

i observed the atoms you smashed

and the resultant particles

ephemeral and transitional

all recorded on my clipboard

hungry to see you running again

when they first let me near you

all my training dropped like necrotic skin

dead dead weight

sheaf of research papers

scattering on sterile sheet-concrete

my head was barely in for a second

when i saw your real face

a blue flash

brighter than a thousand suns

tearing through my occipital lobe

immediately spilling onto the floor

was my evidence that the dosage was fatal

the nausea is purportedly immediate

proton currents are supposedly sour

Patient presents with epidermal splitting

Patient was taken to the operating room

and placed in supine position.

The first incision was made with a Bosch jackhammer.

Bleeding vessels were carefully cauterized with little orange cones.

God damn it.

I swear this city is always doing road work.

Maintenance is an ongoing forever-process

Kicking up dust and blocks of asphalt

Inserting rebar into wet concrete

Apartments with bad air conditioning and worse humidity

Mold growing into the damp corners of your chest

Patient whines and asks to be taken care of.

Patient requests to be given more morphine.

A king named Cartesian sits on a plane

His chamber a point, his sceptre a line

Direction is moot, his town has no signs

He walks home drunk his crown hung in shame

Barren is his throne, his life has no aim

On an infinite walk, with infinite time

But will his queen wait? Will she sit affine?

She’ll polish his crown, keep his hearth aflame.

The math says of course, for that is a fact

Vectors on a plane will return his crown

But his queen is his point, he, her hero

Tearful, she mourns, not sure when he’ll be back.

Missus Cartesian resolves, with a frown

My blue faux leather kline is warm under my butt.

I’m down 650 CC’s of emigrated blood.

The remainder is swirling up a plastic tube attached to my arm.

Plasma donation has a sterile facade.

Rude nurses intake for sweet phlebotomists

Beige curtains in front of soft cumulus clouds.

Cheap gift cards compensate for saved lives.

A progress bar ticks along.

Now the blood plasma is done separating.

The platelets and cells start to return.

Yellow nectar replaced by cold IV fluid.

Waiting at the bus stop,

The clouds seem a little flatter

The bench feels a little colder

A 5 tonne bus approaches,

an AI generated picture of a lady plastered on its side

I close my eyes, imagining jumping in front of it

Splatter of pink saline on the asphalt

Fuel line hooked up to my arm

I decide against it,

and when my eyes are open again

you leave in 61 days.

well. 60, todays basically over

and those 5 days youll spend on your trip next week.

minus 2 days since youll need time to unpack your things.

...

a coiling leafy monster that used to be a farmhouse

a solid state hard drive dipped in molten tin

a smear of hemolymph on a brick wall

the alloy of my cheek quick-welding onto your back

…

i know that we can say i love you now but theres some other word im looking for. hopefully something german. preferably mysterious and with an accented letter. something that says “please (please) worry about me”