LUCID

This Monday’s Poem of the Week highlights the Faustian bargain of our most potent opioid drugs – assuaging pain at the price of obliterating consciousness and memory.

LUCID

You turn the knob of the old radio

looking for a signal in the static

they say is the noise of the stars.

Move too quickly and you find

only a whine whistle

gone as soon as heard.

Titrate me, nurse,

between pain and drowsiness

that I might hear myself think.

Jonathan H. Marks

This entry was posted in America, Death and Dying, Health and wellness, Medicine, Poetry, Thoughts & Musings and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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