Tonight, while standing up from bending over the washer, I hit my head on the laundry room shelf,

I recalled Natasha Richardson, lucid intervals, how each second of life is essentially pelf,

I got scared, naegleria fowleri, TBI, rabies... Tonight it's the possible TBI,

Hours of internet research, has me thinking my brain is about to fry,

About to be pressured, by blood, down my neck,

Has me thinking I'll surely die from this several inch trek,

I read about the symptoms, I manifest the symptoms,

Would they have manifested had I not read about them?

Would I not believe I'm bleeding from the top to my brain stem?

I have insurance now, do I go to the hospital?

I want to but I'm frozen like a popsicle,

Then I think, what do I want my loved ones to know before I die?

What, if any, wisdom can I impart?

I think with all of... what's left of my brain,

The situation has me jittery and anxious like smoked cocaine,

I come up with a blank, all of the cliches have already been taken,

How to live life, the point of it, the greater point of it, answers trite and probably mistaken,

You die, you live, the world doesn't hiccup,

Janes and Joes face it daily, whether in Phoenix or Wikieup,

Mittens on my lap, Kimmy on my chair, Rox in my bed,

I'm on the couch, thinking about how I might end up dead, 

How my brain is filling with blue lead, along with these thoughts,

Death and dying, encephalitis, blood clots,

The seconds tick, I find it hard to smile, 

Time moves on, all the while,

I wish I had something figured out about what's going on,

I don't. Until that day, through the sludge I'll keep rowing on...


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