Of Surgical Fields And Sunsets... Poem by Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr

Strong scent of ether,
stale and mundungus,
scaling pale walls
of a sterile ambience;
and I ponder the strange crossing
of perception to delusion -
sphinxlike and opaque,
this masque of comatosia-
attempting to crack
my jaded Brain
from outside its network,
such paradox.

And, I'd laugh out loud
if I weren't inside the
nethermost of sleep,
standing over the outlines
of people below me...sweating.
I call down to them...they smile
but they never look up,
it's not their dream;
still I wonder if they've had
an unawaring dose of anesthesia.

Or Could it be the sub-conscience
supersedes the Brain in chaos
from chemical sleep?


Surgical fields like sunsets,
impressively striking,
suddenly drifting,
and I'm still here pondering
the connection of it all;
such paradox.



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Frank James Ryan, Jr/FjR