Friday, February 17, 2012

some monsters with three heads silently applaud the assembly

this is mental illness

the fingers that reach for the keys, the buttons, the zip
have no heads they are mouthing but nothing
he wants to unearth your chest your breasts but has
no equipment which will suffice for this ancient task

all day he has been but only because surely
it is down there somewhere—but that's not nearly
good enough, not as language or anything else

this is language illness

that came suddenly and unexpectedly on the cold moor
and you with your head in a pool of moonlight

the birds silent in their hollow chests

please expect a little turbulence, ladies and gentlemen
for there are monsters in our midst

this is just illness


just stop now, okay
one is all out of everything
and has nothing to give


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