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
1
2
3
just stop now, okay
one is all out of everything
and has nothing to give
.
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