Grief can take me to bed,
awaiting the completion of the process
that changes my thinking from muddled
to pluripotent once again.
Outside my mattress cocoon is the rest of life.
Whatever that will entail.
Inside are the very slowly growing cells that
will completely replace my liver in three weeks.
I don’t count on anything anymore.
You couldn’t brain wash me now.
That portal has shut and I say my
agnostic prayers to become different.