A time comes when the only sensation left is pain,
and nothing really stops it,
and the hours crawl by.

At times it seems like a cosmic speeding ticket,
“Son, you just had too much fun.”
I am chastised. OK?

Cold wind whips around the corner of the building.
I’m trying to ingest a cigarette
before my hands turn to ice.

Where does it hurt, right now, just this second –
head, back, stomach, legs or hands?
Nothing really stops it.

There is the memory of pain and the dread of pain,
both worse than this moment’s tortures,
a pill will rock me to sleep.

Nothing really stops it. I’ve tried everything there is,
well, maybe morphine, but I can’t get that.
Put me to sleep like an old dog.

As Robby said, “It’s a goddamned impossible
way to live.” I wait in a sliver of shadow
for tomorrow’s light.



Syd Weedon
3/18/2023