Spring 2016 — Winter 2017
what was it we said to each other
before parting ways
in that Madison hotel room?
me, chained motionless to my shadow
the walls caving in out of the darkness
’til, like a cannonball . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . it hit me
i’m alone with my madness, again
we never said goodbye
that piece is still missing
back then, it was simply a jackhammer in my head
a broody foreboding i couldn’t interpret
the stage a battleground of words
nothing you’d dare bring home to mother
echoes in the room
louder than a grenade
remnants of me, strewn
on the shag
*
i travel through time to that day
follow myself through the fog
let loose the thread — settle into the maze
a trap where 3-dimensions fail
where up and down have lost their way
right and wrong on scales without balance
insanity the only name in tune
i’m in charge of it all
but can’t find the keys
drive all night to nowhere
wake up somewhere else
the quagmire of the moment
not tethered to space or time
lost my glasses
now, i need a phone
sittin’ here on the side of the highway
officer shines his light
directly into my reverie
if i could walk a straight line
i’d walk it
from here to Timbuktu
if birds could talk . . .
well, actually, they do
but they’re not here
to tell this purveyor of peace
that i haven’t had a drop
chalk that up to miscommunication
with the flock
handcuffs, tow job, touch my nose, snow job
come on, let’s get serious!
give me a blood test!
great! satisfied?
if he only knew how near the brink
i didn’t know i was
“Here are your keys. Drive safe.”
i escape
into the wilderness
of my mind
*
the never-ending row of dots
weave me into the journey of the road
a plan forms in the haze
credit card’s a bust
800-miles from home
got to get to somewhere before i get to lost
set my GPS
for Nashville, Tennessee
folks in blue are everywhere
got to make the border
before dawn
got to get some gas
got to get the hell back on the road
turns out
you can’t get from Illinois to Tennessee
but there’s plenty of time for a psychiatric
examination along the way
before you get to where you’re headed
they’ll pick you up
at 1am
in a 24-hour Walgreens pharmacy parking lot
you’ll spend some time in the hospital
for walking a crooked line
and acting kooky, loopy, droopy, or even snoopy
*
“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?”
and progressing downhill from there . . .
all the foulness i can scream!
in any language i can scream it!
and that was kooky and loopy
and perhaps a bit spooky enough
for them
*
6 am, strapped down on the stretcher
squinting
dulled by a night of needle pricks
one says “wake!”
another “breakfast!”
they certainly aren’t nuns
breakfast is Lorna Doone cookies
and OJ
a 24-day eclipse of the sun
schizoaffective disorder bipolar type
depressed
manic
psychotic
panicked
paranoid
frantic
delusions of grandeur — move over, Donald Trump
that’s right, i’m running for President
and you don’t stand a chance
i’ve got the national debt resolved
along with global peace and cooperation
my platform is planet Earth
and, as soon as i get out of this predicament
i’m filin’ papers
where’s the chicken clicker?
gotta to let Hillary know
she’s gotta get out too
“it’s time for your meds.”
i’d rather stay in bed
23-hours just ain’t enough shut-eye for me
yesterday you said, “go to bed.
72-hours is way too long to be up”
make up your mind!
picture riding a seesaw
on a roller coaster ride
where the hell are my keys?
*
Ah . . . Angel Joyce . . . yes
disguised as a social worker
you appeared to me in the nursing home
notebook and pen in hand
your suggestion, clearly angelic
“Richard, you look bored.
Here, go do something creative
with these.”
little did you know
you pried open my shell that day
and deep in the visceral mass
found a pearl
as weekend slipped into the ocean
out flowed words
my weekend — a sea of words
pages of poems
’til i ran out of room
was instantly one of those gushing fools
who writes because his chemistry tells him he must
joke’s on me
my body’s the smart one
we hug goodbye
didn’t realize
you were passing me off
to another angel
not that the transition was easy, no
*
six months in, i’m barely coherent
poetry’s all that’s keeping me alive
my schizophrenic roommate’s driving me somewhere
just can’t detect radiation in the walls
not a clear vision
of what i’m supposed to be
spend my nights
wearin’ holes in my socks
pacing grooves in the corridor
so, free me from this firetrap
before it burns with all this poetry inside!
i don’t feel safe
with a plastic spoon!
writing poems
to get ahead of the blues
escape the walls of this decrepit room!
*
what’s this?
lit like a lark in the summer sky
she’s reading news to the residents
someone to talk to, i feel it
hello; i’m Richard
you must be new
“I am; how are you?”
okay, better or less
been writing like i mean it
got a stack of poems
an inch thick
“Oh, I love poetry; would you be so kind as to read for me?”
sure
scurry to my room
roommate’s talking to the wall
grab my pile; slip back out the door
my new friend, Shara, listens
as we dive deep into the pages of my psyche
day after day through the growing pile
deeper and wider we expose the core
my audience of one and me
not only does she listen
she’s asking questions
i make more words
fueling our exploration.
now, out of the blue, she hands to me
a tablet computer to record my thoughts
it’s almost Christmas
just took a walk in the snow
if you tell me there’s no such thing as angels
i’ll tell you to take a hike
in my shoes
*
14 hours a day
glued to this keyboard and screen
releasing floodgates
pruning dead branches
finding keys
unlocking doors
light filters through my prism
furrowed brow now clear
the prison of my room now shelter
the clock ticking to a new horizon
you can lock up a man
but not his spirit
it’s interesting
as i’m joined on this path
by a heavenly chorus of friendly faces
words simply sing themselves
into song.
First published in Lit Up on Medium
