It's a character piece written from the POV of a cancer survivor who refuses to give in.

My blood is dry.
Powdered rouge to cover stains
of nuclear technology greatest achievement
since mutating atoms into bread.

I dread the day my family
sweats real perspiration to whet my appetite.
I'll feel jealous of their tears and drink them
to just to remember the taste
sodium-tears are plentiful with minerals I hear.

Time stands still by the bay
San Francisco looks funny fading to white..
I see cataracks of faces flying over me
talking, comforting, horrifying my baked mind.

Kerouac, Beat Poets, Bob Dylan frame my focus
Blood; sweet, sweet blood
Blood on the tracks, in the rivers, on the seas
in the rain, tears on my pillow, rock bands
you know the one who sang about spinning wheels.

Self-made plans, bass lines to the right,
bass lines to the left of me.
Music! Music! Music!
Drummers, drumming, trumpeters trumpeting, my lungs
are caving in like the walls of Jericho
Where's our God now, Joshua?

This cocktail's not enough anymore
I need something stronger
a shot of faith might do me good.

90 proof, with a shot of truth,
(call it courage if you will)
What have I done with my life?
What have I done to myself?

Damn it! I want to live long enough
to kiss these blues goodbye
and write a love song to the unpitied.