The bedroom stunk of horrid flesh,
moisture leaked in from a different guest.
A tongue as the pendulum swung
from ear to limb,
dizzy asylum neighbors crawl
about the metal floor.
Lurched inside the thicket of my brain
contains ill remnants of a radioactive train
that flew out of a narcotic buzz,
landed in my post-apocalyptic slugs.
She withdrew her maggot demeanor
toward a swiveling fan
growing out of an October scarecrow man
belted down to a hospital bed.
The IV tubes are empty,
crusty blood clogs at the holes entry.