Paralytic

—for Sylvia Plath

It’s happening—

Will it go away?

It’s worse than Kafka

Turning into a Cockroach

It’s still going on—

It’s not going away

It’s worse than Gogol

The Nose that got away

Here it comes again—

It’s not very pretty

It’s worse than Roth

I’m a Breast now

Nobody loves me—

I’ll be a Gas Bag next

Breathing in and out

I’m having a relapse

The War is over—

Ticker tapes glide

Down past my window

Another victory parade

Lights out—

A soft anonymous

Voice: “Are you all right?”

A starched, young nurse

I’m a paralytic—

I’ve got delusions of grandeur

Next I’ll be a giant statue

The Statue of Liberty

The clock strikes midnight—

Suddenly I wake up and

Now I’ve turned into the

Jackie Kennedy Lincoln

I ask for a pain pill—

They give me an enema

I’ve become Maria Montez

Queen of Cobra Island

I’m on the Orient Express—

Marlene Dietrich visits me

She gives me a blowjob

Her mouth full of pearls

Lolita shows up—

Whispers “I’m your daughter”

She does her hula-hoop act

Down there where I hurt

Am I cracking up?—

Do they waltz in Vienna?

Does the sun come up

Everyday in the East?

My eyes, nose and ears—

Surely they’re deceiving me

Cellophane surrounds me

I’ve been packaged cheap

I nod knowingly—

I’m a magnolia now

A shawl of Spanish Moss

Covering my face