Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Priest with Lung Cancer

Indefinite, he said. I would certainly not be pressured, no,
no, not be pressured; censured, ventured on, no; oh yes, I can;
oh no, you don't; do you take me for a fool like a stool on

the rug? Baby me any day but not this minute, not with this
thing hanging on my shoulder and the doctor saying he wonders
whether I'm gonna live another week. Light the wick, I feel weak.

Someone told me the day I fly will be the pilot's last supper or
a helicopter will take me to heaven, and I will bring with me
incandescence, phosphorescence, incense and myrrh; of course

this is not the last time I'll ever sing this song---come on,
then, sing along, we are the champions, aren't we, my friends?
and didn't I show you the end of the rope, the hope of love?

No comments:

Post a Comment