I was seeing its fresh Christian thunder,
Eyes that had seen the millennium set
On deep clay. Wearing what weren’t even
Tamed and pulled closed. The hospital gowns. For
Me, they brought two. The pale horse. Six foot four.
Two hundred and twenty-five pounds of grey
Flesh. Tie one on backwards and one on forwards
To haunt the white halls. To determine the
Bodily apocalypse waging. To
Be wheeled from one bright room to another.
To be prodded with cold instruments. To
Be fed through the center of a spinning
Machine. Modern inquisition to force
My confession. My forced resurrection.