Upon the occasion of J.K.’s triple bypass surgery
I pride myself on being smart and cool.
I understand decay, mortality.
And yet, I cannot fathom the misrule
Of mind trumping corporeality.
I know I’ll die; all mortals wear away,
And though I do not welcome death, I feel
No terror at finality. I say
This often. But (I know now) stress congeals
The flesh! Can this be? Biochemistry
Rules—we know the organs fail, hormones
Fade, peristalsis cramps, things go awry.
But how can my mind, acting quite alone,
Imaging my wife’s distress, plant duress
Sufficient to freeze my neck? Sure, I feel
Concern—but sense no conscious stress.
So much for consciousness! The stress looms real!
My ectoplasmic mind asphyxiates
What matters most, twists flesh, and molds my fate.
(2/5/08)