Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Encephalitis lethargica

There is no dream
In the disease of sleep
Meatloaf please
Here you go

There is no sleep
In the disease of dreams
I'm sorry, I was only kidding

Are you visiting someone?
You're a patient?
You don't look like a patient.
I don't?

Did you choose this place?

Where else is there?

And somehow we wake up
Each day, a simple mantra
Of self-loathing on our lips

Give me a Rob Roy
On the rocks.

My mother doesn't think

I receive medication
For what
Stored up like your

That's what I hear
That's what I didn't want to do

I didn't want to tell you
I didn't want to tell you

You know you made me love

It was nice talking to you

Take me away from this

How's it going?

How's it going?

My son has disappeared.

That's how I feel.


That's really nice.

He'd die without me.


Hello.  I need to talk to


Are you all right?


The simplest thing.

Wednesday, October 05, 2011

IPad Note Poem no 8: the psoriatic

IPad Note Poem no 8: the psoriatic

It starts on the calves
The skin reddens
Swells and itches
It is only later that
The scales come
If they come at all
And then the shame

Of course, it is known
That it is not one's
Fault. No pecuniary
Damage can be assessed
But tell that to the
In-born savage who
Sees patterns in the
Cracking skin: the
Mark of the Devil
The hooves of the beast
Kicked hard into the

So one applies ancient
Balm that smells of
Pitch and sulfur,
Muttering two word
Prayers to a god
Too angry to remove
The curse

Oh God
Oh God
Oh God

And one believes
And one repeats
And one remains
The itching of the
Skin subsides
An abiding God

Recalling the cold
Past where we
Swam deep in
Tropical waters
And our skins
Were hardened
For a purpose
Not beyond

Where the only
God was to swim
On to the next day
With no feeling
In our flinty

Our past
Hides beneath
Supple skin, waiting
For the winter
Morning when it
Will break forth
To protect us
From something
That is no longer

Sent from my iPad