A fortnight’s sleep and the antlered beast

wakes me for drill, hammer and chisel;

a portion of skull is chipped and chopped,

rubbed against his muzzle: a dream flickers

on the cave wall, entrails for inspection.

I am pronounced unintelligible

and plunged into ice-cold water.

Syringed and sedated, piped and pencilled,

painted in the mouth of a lion.

Bang! The artificial execution

has failed to meet its target. A warm bath

and electric eels massaged to perfection;

milk, seed and vegetables for breakfast.

Treatments vary, according to ability to pay.

I’m dressed up in an all-over itch

that can’t be scratched or bitten; the lungs of a lamb

are sitting on my head that’s newly-shaven.  

I am bled, fettered and beaten, infected

with a fever; the leeches kiss my blood

and lunch on poison and panacea.

I take the waters; more often they take me

and I’m held under ‘til the bubbles

barely amble to the surface.

The spinning stool will reassemble

the contents of my brain

into the right order.

And now I’m Jesus.