Clinical Blues I

This poem is a product of boredom in a class of obstetrics. talk about disillusionment, sometimes i wonder how i found my feet in the medical school. but thats another story. that afternoon, i actively poured my thoughts in my notes and what i have written below is the refined composition. i hope its enjoyable!

Clinical Blues

Sing me a song
not from your larynx
probe deep
deeper into lungs,
the recesses of your soul

I am a lonesome observer,
the clinical sentinel
who sits still to wage
wars against infirmities

And your organic sax
plunges snot and sounds
into my drink of of patience
the truth is eerie,tall
like swabs of heavy winds

Bored purveyor!
where lies your magic
your medicine of
doses and regimen
that mount eternal
wars against Hypnos

The blip of an ailing heart
tolls a symphony of symptoms
but am no open chest surgeon
for I'm a jazz pianist
With little stint with blood

The morbid applause of the gut
claps of bilious thunder
in the economy of sound
music is found
in scribbles,
in slow latent dribbles
drops and drips
beams of ray scamper
as life shudder into light
and souls slip into purgatory