trusting an astrologist
over an oncologist
saying cancer rising is good
you’re not out of the wood
something here radiates
playing lou reed’s magic and loss
a pen mark where the radiation penetrates
that looks like a cross
we lost our hair in the last few weeks
our throat is sore
so no one speaks
they wait outside the door
dreaming of some nuclear war
while i threw up over the floor
i’m not going to sad
this isn’t oscar worthy
want me to say its bad?
you heard me
go fuck yourself with that probing finger
and may the bad smell linger
trusting an ontologist
over a proctologist
landed me with a bag
i’m not sure if i took a shit
i miss it; it’s a drag
no one expects this much wit
i tell you, i want a fag
if my dick worked i’d ask for a shag
the nurse has cold bedpan handling hands
and acts like she understands
but won’t give me a happy ending
all my so-called friends have been unfriending