Identity
Near-death experiences can change you, sort of.
Resuming transmission after being
in that place
of sleep without dreams,
the peaceful sleep of a thousand sleeps,
surrounded by black.
Nothingness.
Revived after a heart stopped beating,
with only the ghost of a dead friend
standing at the foot of the bed,
smiling as if he was there to reassure
that everything would be alright.
The mind can play serious tricks with
too many tubes to measure, piercing skin,
and intensive care machines chirping
far more steady than that muscle
losing count inside my chest.
A joyful event marking passing and rebirth.
A second chance at near-life.
Do these scrapes fuel
that out-of-sorts feeling?
Or is treating life as a vacation
gift-wrapping these moments?
Skeleton dancing apparition
animated stardust
unburdened by an uncheckered past
untroubled by an uncertain future.
Contemplate changing something, anything,
sweep away the tangible refuse
of that history strewn throughout the home.
Purging and purifying my psyche
without throwing out pieces of my identity.
Such decluttering does not
really alter who I am.
Impossible to clear the head of trash.
Best to ride out the uneasiness
wait for this disquiet to come and go.
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