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I stumble in a haze
seeking clarity and a reprieve
from this disease.
I have the need to grieve.
I cry over the treacherous pain,
I'm not stable, I'm a wavering loon
armed with a full bottle of psychotropics.
Detesting the label, the misnomer
that makes me furious,
all the while, I look sober.
These teeth marks in my arms
are evidence of your insistence
on routing out some new disease,
the needle probing and curious.
The old raw rice grain
I stepped on
is like a thorn in my foot,
I am reminded of my need to leave.
The spider web roof
can't keep out the rain;
my sunlight omniscience
knows your soul.
You taught me that
he who increases knowledge,
You sing your words like a hymn and
leaving I trip over devil's bones.
The Toll Booth
Gibson was down
for robbing a toll booth,
from hospital to hospital
for the criminally insane.
for sixty cents an hour,
in a kitchen,
washing the dishes
of serial killers
and child molesters,
before being exonerated.
fifty years old,
with wavy, silver hair,
disheveled like his beard,
speaks of his new
Bible reference guide;
it never occurred to him
(if there is one),
could allow this to happen.
His intelligent, blue,
have forgotten working the farm,
as he sits rocking,
waiting for a free cup of hot tea.
Her voice is like a blessing bell,
a body song which
fills the big empty.
The spirit of gravity
we are captives
in our glasshouse atmosphere.
Her name melts on his tongue like the
soul of an intention inside a Eucharist.
His desire is as skinless as a sunbeam
through a stained glass window;
but she is as needy as a mirror and her
eyes as bright as dimes.
Feather brained she waits for his return
not knowing how to love.
The long drives, the dashboard confessions
bring a soft focus to life
and a sleepy melancholy.
Sounds like Dyslexia
Is it mottled mushrooms
and mashed marshmallows;
or is it a yellow pad corn
and carrots crunchy orange?
Isn't an accent just an accident?
Did she lose her elasticity or her ethnicity?
Did the roach roast?
Was it apostrophe or hyperbole?
Maybe it is just synchronicity,
serendipity, synecdochy or
Does it sound like a symphony?
Come away with me,
we can catch shooting stars
on our tongues,
wash our hair
when it rains and comb out our bangs.
Then brush our teeth with an ax,
because we have so much plaque.
We can carry the water in a
quart sized berry picking basket,
singing a tisket a tasket.
We can eat marginalia
like this poem,
and breathe miasma,
since we don't have asthma.
If a screwdriver can start a truck,
then maybe the hen will have luck,
when we sell her a lottery ticket.
A golden egg, the hen can't fake it.