Madness Shall Not Go Unwatched

So I’ve arrived and they tell me it’s for the best
–this pool of infectious weeping. With what
its ligaments allow – tentative sores & freely in-
hospitable. They cut with primeval precision,
removing a tumor from the breastplate of Ham-
let’s ribs – a grapefruit whose time has come,
to be eaten, squeezed with, or left for dead.
Sixty-two pounds of guilt I’ve heard. Fingers
to entertain its sores. A luxury afforded only
to the rich cream that invites the spores. Even
they’ve got to eat, the small, spherical experts,
wrenching the sanity from that big melon head
of his. Like a cadre of divers hell-bent on diving
into treacherous waters, keeping forward,
land ho land ho – a wish for something better.