This is about what it is like when you get four mental health patients in the room together:

We gather like the sterile uses of triage

under the floor of the Y-

Mental Health cases lurking

together, murmering to each

other in vile incandescents

openly feeling the real

end of minds reflections

who knows what prompts

our mouths to speak

another language unknown to God

but felt through the synapses

to be real and true

as we peer through the undergrowth

looking for a likemind

who responds with inclement

howls of deceit and motivation

sharing insanities like dustcloths

covering up the cracks

with mascara and dye

wearing leather not denim

for the tattoos respond better

drumming on my mind

demanding my attention

I have only time for you, sweet genius

who knows it all but for proof

yields only a deck of tarot cards.




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