Waking From a Coma

On the frozen ground he lay face up
shaking aching and coughing up

ammonia spirits piercing his nose
deliver sharp blows to come to know

and oh how they burn like January air
from truth to dare its never fair

grass brittle razors frosted light blue
very different hue but so are you

under the dead skin starting to feel
its burning parting yearning to peel

red all around and laughing like mad
staring at sutures more than he had

awake to this life one you don't know
converging two plains emerge from below

it is never its now its always been
savagery beauty commingling again


-me