in psych wards, they take your belt, shoelaces
anything you could use to hurt yourself
when I’m there, I fear the world will kill me
so, I give them my belt, tell ’em to take good care of it
& I talk to others there
& I feel damaged & I identify with compatriots –
Continue reading “Cheap Carnival (a poem)” →
I didn’t realize I was sinking
‘til I ended up in the psych ward –
red stitches on a woman’s neck
she looks like a scarecrow
she sliced her own throat
to make the torment end
I was sinking
(Photo by Mishal Ibrahim on Unsplash)
The end is closer than we think,
the wild-eyed prophet says.
He, who has spent time in psych wards,
sees visions of hellfire at corner stores.
What are these images of demons and flashes of inspiration?
Continue reading “Instability (a poem)” →