
01-18-2010, 11:08 AM
Will You Be My Doctor On Call?
I'll cry sanity tomorrow
when you successfully de-puzzle
the image giggling at you
in the mirror during that pick-me-up
call. Scream and louder and I'll lose
my less than well-handled grasp
on your mind's caricature
of myself. Crazy,
but in love [no, maybe
I just love lonely
and you think it's crazy.]
with the person you raped
of personality a year later.
I'll cry sanity to this new, improved
you against the dial tone 'til I'm
piled up and brought home.
It's only slightly less appetizing
and more along a hit and run-off
my leftover system -- now morphined
by the misconception that everything
has blueprints with a certain way
to function. (But you switched
yours out!) I still feel your brick wall
smashing in the hesitancy of you.
[I really did lose it to you!]
No wonder doctors question
the capacity of my mind to adjust
to your changing neuron flows.
Your brain frequency's partying,
stopping, doubling, restarting --
a fun house doesn't need hallucinations.
Stay two steps behind causes
vomiting.
And you thought I'd cry sanity
after you so aptly spun lies
cutting off poignant lapses;
even the CAT scan printed mental error:
void of stability,
mentality,
plausibility,
anything-ility
My prescriptions read --
trick him into taking so he'll stop stepping
in circles and maybe donate himself
to your cause. Then equilibrium will
settle down for the night.
Baby, I just want to come home!
Then I'll cry sanity in hope of remembering
where the ribbon fell so I can replace
my head and have you sleep with me.
No, don't feather dust my feet
with rope ends. This jacket's
not that kind of bondage so just lay
with me in the gentle trials of the straps;
the cold buckles against your back.
Me, rocking in an 8-timed flow
of your breathing metronome
tick-toking away what's left
of me regressing to the
stillborn baby in
a cradle.
Ghost-cold; night-lighted in the back
of your mind [mine cannot hold this];
you're gone again twirling punned romance
leaping for another four-posted bed.
I'll wash the hospital sheets when you
get home waiting for another visit
comatose with anticipation of which piece
you'll have removed next. Then you can
cry sanity if there be a morrow for you.
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