On Falling From a Bicycle, Hitting One’s Head

[matsunosuperfan]

On Falling From a Bicycle, Hitting One’s Head
Hard and Waking to a Not Unkindly Caretaker
Named Jean-Marie

Violence has always been a friend
to France, where the wineglass was invented
based on how a neck without its head looks
more or less like a young woman’s breast,
or so the story goes. I always want to ask,
What story? and Where does it go? but I know
being clever gets you killed, and I enjoy my life.
I don’t want to be separated quite yet
from the magic bean, the prune that stirs the drink. Amuse
ma bouche, Napoleon—I think that’s Gertrude Stein. It might just be
Joan Rivers though. There’s no way to be sure. If you’re blessed
with a strong idea, never look it up.
The facts too often prove it wrong, and then
what can you do? You can’t just go on fucking anything
that pulls off leather. Once they take your blood
there’s no pretending you’re not sick.
It was William Carlos who first called the hospital
contagious, clocked its hallways white as pain,
as valium and sheep. It’s a barbaric business, nowhere
anyone should hurry. You take one step
through those glass doors, the meter starts to run.