in lieu of anything else i write on pain

ive thot all this while my further experiences in the saga of my headaches and the health care system would make a fine sequel to 'was chicken trax', but am finding irony and wit are scarce while one is in the midst of a health-crisis.
'was chicken trax' ended on an optimistic note--i had found a doc who gave me relief and things were looking sunny and bright. meanwhile, my health issues returned, with a vengeance and were no longer assuaged by the old regimen.
i certainly have encountered absurdities the last months. tales worth telling.
and one day i can laff it up. meanwhile, i hardly pick up a pen, or set to type a poem or story, and i have not put a single sheet of paper thru my inkjet since the first week of May. so, bare with me as it seems most times i do write it is from the perspective of one experiencing moderate to severe pain.
certainly poets and authors write to work thru suffering, and ive been tinkering with just that, even allowing the subject of my writing to linger on inane bodily pain.
in high school i wrote thru depression and anger at our lot--as men and women in a world riddled with injustice and often devoid of meaning. i eked out my own meaning, and have much to smile about. my whole adult life i've marveled at my recovery. i think myself lucky, and deserving of the many great things i've come into. this is why i dont chop off my own head to end my pain. this is why i persist in a seemingly endless maze towards that Castle--where i will supposedly find relief.
three solid months now of pain around the clock--dashed with a cple days here or there where i woke and remained pain free--i now enter month four of migraine 2009.
i hope u accompany me further on my trek! and understand i am not being hyperbolic if i write of pain. even those who experience pain daily and nightly never are used to the pain. they adapt, they cope and they even go about their business, but the pain never loses its impact. the pain is pain is pain, and blows. i am cool in the mind and thriving yet, but in pain and quite out of the proverbial closet of it now. which does feel....kind of good!

yr loving editor, Bree

again to my friends

again i recede into my hairline
rapture is a two hour refrain
from the song i call my little grain

two husked skulls/ rinsed and drained
energies rightly do me in and nightly
i wonder why trigeminal nerves
fractal leaves what dance in the peripheral
even the fence moves as i hold my own face

bitty progress and i'm milking the landline
calling all but the local piss rags
then its a few Shaq-sized steps
back not moon-walking babe

i am like a cup of rice
bloating in the stopped up sink
i am mainly extraneous and
bound like by coffee grounds
i lose my nutritious value
and gather at the bottom again

the drug which works to a point
has me losing hair and swells my joints
its predecessor made my guts queasy
and woke me like my elders to piss nights

fifteen minutes forgetting
in the car say or walking
movements maketh the pain
peripheral and intermittent

slaving with great pots at work
makes pain seem in-existant

maybe i shld carry my couldron
some blocks and write u again