Poem: ECT

I wrote a long entry today that I just lost, and probably for the best, as it was a rambling piece of work, talking about the unintended benefits of ECT--how as in an acid trip I find myself returned from Planet Craig to Planet Earth. I'm still spaced-out and vulnerable, but I'm here. That's about it. Here's an old poem of mine that I think better captures the flavor:


ECT

“That’s me in the corner, losing my religion.”
–REM

Each day for years
I sacrificed my heart to God.

My smile got so tight
I had to nibble through a straw.

All my epiphanies were poison,
my thoughts hounded by sirens

until I was forced to recognize myself
inside the silver lenses of a policeman

and know that all the wanted posters
of Jesus were for me, so I peeled them off

like a bad paint job. Underneath
was a darkness more terrible

than a starless, starless sky,
the pupil of a salmon’s eye

fixed behind display glass.
After the electrodes and the gel

and four weeks at Hospital Hotel
it was enough to finger my own face.

Was that my mustache?
Will anyone recognize me on the street?

Prepare a face to meet the faces you will meet.


(published in Free Cuisenart and Conspire)