March snow – foto by Smith

March is the Cruelest Month

They say it is spring;
been so twelve days straight.
But wait —
spring is warm sun, blue skies,
so why all these low level lies?
Started off fine
then went wrong wrong way way down down the line
58° 58° 40° 40° 32° 33° 29°
31° 32° 36° 37° 39°
Where’s spring’s upper 50s glam,
its in like a lion, its out like a lamb
instead of this foul weather lying lion scam
of snow and blow and ice not nice
and rain and pain and cold again?
Two days sun
the rest undone
in old cold below a sunless sky
and the icy gray constant constant clouds bring.
Believe me, I ain’t happy with this thing
which is why such a shitty song I sing.

— Smith, 3-31-2011

more March snow – foto by Smith

cat scan – foto by Smith

Had a cat scan (X-ray computed tomography) this morning from eyeball to clavicle. They shot me up first with iodine dye, and I knew they’d hit my vein immediately when I got that old metallic taste on my tongue — when tang hits tongue, you’re know you’re on.

Still have tongue tang and slight head glow hour later, like something inside radiating warmth outward, perhaps exacerbated by my bicycle ride back from the hospital.

Didn’t know the injected dye was iodine until I got home and Googled it; but now that I know, I swear I can smell it, and taste it too — the smell’s been stained in my past brain because I had a lot of iodine poured on my torn flesh in my adventurous youth.

Don’t normally share this poem but figure it fits here.

Junkie Luv

My eyes slither open, shut
In golum time my tongue
Rasps brown lizards
As I hiss my want of you
In careful solitude
O my preciousss

Sleep whispers soft leavings
On my lids my head nods
Nods my precious
These fingers numb in spite
The clash of needle
And the floor

— Smith, 1973

premise – foto by Smith