SIGNS: British Steel, Red
Flag, White Crow, Black Cloud
1.Your parents:
Everything was her fault.
He was disabled and it wasn't couldn't be his fault anymore than if had had diabetes or
a melanoma.
She dressed with clothes that fit her slender frame and she was kind to strangers.
She had a dog and got along with everyone but she victimized the disabled; her love so
true so hard to bare.
He knew he loved her and she loved him.
He was disabled by a low self-esteem that hovered just below an obsession with his low
self-esteem.
Petty grievances with everything; resentments of others successes; jealousy; the
feeling of being constantly misunderstood, wronged or injured; wanting to serve but
knowing how or whom; attached to how things should have gone and should be and if if if
but but but.
His failures were piling up around him and he had by now gotten used to eviction and
locked steel doors.
He was not a bad person but did not know how to live.
He took two pills in the morning and two at night.
She liked poetry so he tried to write poems.
2.The heart is where the pain lives
Infidel
Child of God
What are your reasons for living?
Oh Holy Host of Apostates
You need only one
You used to trust the world
Now you're strapped to a tree.
Your dreams are darkness
Your body weak
Where will you find strength?
Where will you find peace?
Where love?
The heart is where the pain lives
Use something anything else
3.Powerless over your atheism you look for a father at each and every
lunch counter. You've learned to flirt like your sister used to flirt. You know how to
make them laugh. You're a lover of fathers at lunch counters. You
remember how he taught you checkmate in three moves. Eros/Thanatos. All those desperate
abortive blow jobs you endured. My heavens, where were you? The Whitecoats sing: I'd be
depressed too!
4.You were arrested one time on an island and taken by boat to the shore. You abused
the rights of others and they are rightfully unhappy. You earned the handcuffs. The
amends will take years to sort out. Give up the struggle of addiction. And the idea
that mental illness and the abuses of your youth and post can be cured with books or
the silver tongue. I cannot abide the misery of lying about your faith to get tenure at
the Christian College so to trade in ethics for money. My child says, Life's too short
for secrets Dad, and so I ask, Why would I ever send him to you?
5jazz so depressing.
Horoscopes not even horoscopes.
send it to your "management"
Who are you kidding?
Dishing your own mythology walking like crystal meth walks.
I've said it before and I'll say it again: It's those advertising soul that can't find
it anywhere.
Don't bother with India.
The Ganges is the sewer at your feet; start there.
6.After all these years, the best descriptions of mental illness still belong to Oliver
Sacks and William Styron.
Nobody wants to go to the hospital.
Nobody wants to take medication.
7.write a sonnet to your knees
to the threading in what's left
breath like i showed you
let the blacks out from those places
you've spent all these nights alone
forgive yourself your childhood
your selves
let it all be adrift
cancel this cancer
8.You are not one of the two million Chinese migrant workers who get to see their kids
once a year only to watch them make the same stupid mistakes they did.
You are not the Bangladeshi chambermaid who ends up in
jail in fucking Abu Dhabi for sending a hotel towel back
home with her crisis of a wage.
You are not serving 10 years in an Atlanta prison in for making a stupid desperate
mistake.You are none of these things.
A beautiful young woman fixed you dinner last night
The kids are going to college
9.10
10.11 11.12
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