In the Home

In the Home

 

 

 

give me madness

the world is easier when bleeding insanity

the cuts in my mind

disfigure my thoughts until

i have to write them down in surgical units

 

i can't exist with this face

it is the face of a poet of anonymous features

metaphorically wrinkled with aged, stale

lines

give me madness

 

my world is writing me into a rubber room euphoria

eyes just pools of non-commitment to the pen

life's rushed by in frantic moments

chaotic dreams

crazy unachieved themes

 

and i want madness

to forget before i can remember

to express

what i can no longer feel in words

but what touches my mind

 

and makes me a lobotomy of fractured inclusion

into a world of blithering

that causes others to have nervous fingers

turning pages

and shaking their heads sadly

 

as another poet descends

in broken planks of reason's doubt

and just sits quivering

his pen trembling so badly

he can no longer scribble his name.

 

 

 

 

9/28/13

erin-cilberto

Reviews

[....................]

home is such a relative term here...i see a 'poet ageing before his time, the 'decades' of thoughts organized in those units: broken heart, torn soul, fractured mind...the poet feels the emotions but no longer feels that he can get those words onto the paper in a way to make it palpable for others...a sad state reminding me when i visit the senior's home in a neighbouring town to see family friends and there are those who could once play music and no longer recognize the instruments or the carpenter who walks around with a pencil and measuring tape all day but doesn't really know what to do with them...many of us will end up in that home and if we're lucky, we'll have all our faculties in tact, but history tells us the alternative is just as possible...

[jacob erin-cilberto]

ah yes, to all that you said...so true.

thank you, FT.

j.