when they locked me up
it was like tossing my heart to hopelessness,
to the liar.
like felling me to the cold cliffs,
to the air.
dear godless
like brushed-cotton
loving shroud around my delicate skin
these pale yellow pills rattle in all my sockets
and drink the agony in.
bile-tinted temperance for the lash of my malady
eye-burned privately, singed just on the retina.
and though my thoughts leap like flames,
always off somewhere,
where the stakes are lower.
innocent as ill-reared children
they may be arrested by this peace.
truth is, self-loathing is the nausea
crouching like a vengeful ghost
behind any one of my smiles
ready to fuck me up,
just tip-toeing behind me
do come pad all these corners,
preferably with those beautiful yellow petals
while I have this gait, don't leave me.
I don't like the grief of leaves
and they're all bunched up, blocking the gate,
locking me up, keeping me here.
I am defenseless,
like the 97 year old, toothless house cat
taunted by even the infant voles.
pass the rattle for I have returned to the cot
piss yourselves while you're at it
at me passing in the pot.
I am bored
like the wisened floorboards of the vicar's manse
born before time itself..
where more exotic conversation comes from the specters
chained, no welded to the place
my eyelids i hasten to add, are the blinds.