erright

a poem

for everyone who wants to listen.

 

i miss the old word processor and before that the type writer and before that my valuable notebooks.

i was crazy once and sat

in the middle of my family writing social philosophy

rapidfire

 

every word leading beyond to ideas

each idea so great i couldn't catch it

by its big toe

before it ran off the page

 

then i would go out for a walk

day, night

anywhere

through the woods along the polluted river behind our house

 

arrived once at the railroad tracks where the trauma

inside made everything, the

big stones of the track roadbed, the sun's heat, the rails

rolling out in both directions

 

press me to nothing, complete nothing

unable to speak know comprehend only

that i was about to be reduced

by my mental illness

 

into a pill

 

sitting on the edge of my bed

taking my pill

i would take once a day without

a smile on my face.

 

Reviews

[Penlady]

the key...the lack of the smile...the loss of the joy and the recouping it...life is precious and what you contribute through your writing is quite meaningful...especially to old ladies like me...and I notice...many other writers who read your wonderful gifts of words...

[Penlady]

You've provided a new perspective...I've suffered depression at times and the scene you've provided at the edge of the tracks IS much like mental illness, one could make the decision to fall forward onto the tracks and end it all or back away and reconsider life...the trick is keeping oneself from getting to the point of not being able to make that decision...choices ...the human mind is both fragile and strong....I write notes around the page...wonder what that means...probably just that I CHOOSE to make things difficult for myself..no more than that...your writing is a joy of surprise..

[Emily B]

this scares me, i wish there were a dash light, that would let us know when we are getting too near here