Haiku Sequence on Dexamethasone


Wake up, kneecaps
coruscating in the three o’clock dark.

Stagger from chair back to countertop,


At Walmart, where night crew slides
boxcutters through packing tape

ask for bottle of Jim Beam, 
glass doors of liquor
cabinet bolted.


Weep in bathroom stall
of Blue Springs 8

after watching The Giver.


Man with leukemia drops by
during breakfast. 

Lays his leather Bible on table, 
his dosage less than half
of your own.

Indignant as Jesus, kick him out
of your Father’s house.


Plant pear tree.
Hammer guideposts
into the earth.

Nails in a coffin.


Limp home
along Golfview with bag
of Chex Mix, wrapped
in constellations of pain, barbed wire
of starlight.


Falling down,
the guideposts cross each other
like fingers.

Pull them out of rain-soft ground.


Captain Bible goes
to be with the LORD.

Lower your dosage.

Cameron Morse lives with his wife Lili and son Theodore in Blue Springs, Missouri. He was diagnosed with a glioblastoma in 2014. With a 14.6 month life expectancy, he entered the Creative Writing program at the University of Missouri—Kansas City and, in 2018, graduated with an M.F.A. His poems have been published in over 100 different magazines, including New Letters, Bridge Eight, and  South Dakota Review. His first collection, Fall Risk, won Glass Lyre Press’s 2018 Best Book Award. His second, Father Me Again, is available from Spartan Press. Visit his Website, or Facebook page, for more information.

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