May 22 and the Old Iron Rod

In honor of poor Phineas Gage, a reposting of an old poem...

"May 22 and the Old Iron Rod"

Oh? What's this?
What's happened? What's this?
Red haze and iron rod,
queasy, pierced, and I scream for God.
I feel the air whistle
through my gaping skull,
a hole behind my eye.

What's this? What's happened?
Train tracks dance before my faded vision,
Blurry, blurry.

I tried to blast the rocks,
have I blown myself up instead?
falling backward, I can feel it coming,
my left eye goes blind.
the clouds spin as I come to,
on the ground. Fallen in the sand.

What's happened? What's this?
I don't know, but I do know this,
there's a hole in my head
and all my thoughts are leaking out,
escaping one by one.