That amazing moment
When I say I'm fine
And truly mean it.

That feeling of relief
When I no longer feel the anxiety
Tugging at my soul.

That sinking point
When I have to wonder if this is for good
Or just for the night.

I.

I sometimes dream I’m burning down
the bridges I have crossed,
the ones I’ve built
with words and deeds
that haunt me for no reason,
where paranoia rages
to the point of desperation,
and in my dream I’m wiring up
the bridges for destruction.

I strap them tight with dynamite
then light the wick,
the sizzle’s quick,
ka-boom! And they're exploding.
I sit and smoke a cigarette
and watch them fall completely
while listening to the music of
my past mistakes dispersing.
The sound is heavenly.

I close my eyes
and tilt my head
to take it in,
I feel at peace,
I fall asleep
or so I think,
instead I find I’m wide awake
and standing on the other side;
I haven’t crossed at all.
I’m still parading guilt around my head.

II.

I sometimes see beyond my view
and catch a glimpse of spirits,
its usually when I least expect
they cross my field of vision.
A peaceful ghost,
an evil ghost,
they both exist,
I’ve seen them come
from places where we’d not survive
and minds could not conceive.

I’ve witnessed them in houses through the years,
in houses seized by hell
where every corner walked around
a chill ran down my spine
and creaking walls
and darkened halls
would prompt a quicker step,
those houses where
the shadow beasts and dancing trees
once filled my heart with fright.

III.

But not this house,
I have to say the spirits here are kind.
I cannot lie
I’ve often tried
to find them here,
in sleepless nights,
in midnight gloom,
in shadows cast
across the rooms and porch and yard,
surprisingly they can’t be found,
at least the ones who seek to strip the soul,
they seem to stick to houses
that are far removed from me,
those evil houses without love                                                             ­                                                                 ­                
      
and far away across the fields of dreaming-
on other sides of bridges.

I am selfish.
I am stubborn.
I am rude
I am lazy.

I am obsessed with instant gratification at any cost.
I am interested solely in serving my own needs.

I am manipulative.
I am *****.
I am broken.
I am used and discarded.
I use and discard.

I pretend to care about people when it is convenient for me.
I am garbage.
I am a home to all things bad.
I am nervous
         anxious
         shaking all the timeIamsoangry.
I am destroying my brain, my body.
My soul has long been dead.
I am blackness given form.
I walk the earth to cause destruction.
I am nothing good.

i found your spirit
laying at my feet
upon the ground
it was a tattered sheet
transparent threads
shreds of a spider web
i gathered in my arms
careful as glass
a sad mess
your sorry soul
i found it
i loved it
and i knew it was mine

My wife, a psychiatrist, sleeps
through my reading and writing in bed,
the half-whispered lines,
manuscripts piled between us,

but in the deep part of night
when her beeper sounds
she bolts awake to return the page
of a patient afraid he'll **** himself.

She sits in her robe in the kitchen,
listening to the anguished voice
on the phone. She becomes
the vessel that contains his fear,

someone he can trust to tell
things I would tell to a poem.