Oh It's That

Oh it's

that doctor I can't

use my legs

not in the proverbial sense.

 

But in the sense

in which I cannot talk about, the sense

perhaps in which I type my sisters name

over and over

down a sheet of paper.

 

Oh doctor

there are waves, one perhaps,

 

coming.

A big wave and I am on my surf board.

A dream, except it is not ever a dream.

 

And the ambulance driver watches

as my head like ragweed, looks out

at the sky strapped as I am

with too little air.

 

Oh doctor, the wave I can't control it,

and it is coming. They say take the

medicine.

No more memory, the screaming of it

is inside deep, and I do not know if I can tear it out.