THE DOCTORS SAY
HE'S NOT NEARLY
A MANIC ENOUGH

TO BE BIPOLAR

BUT THEY FEEL
HE'S NOT BEEN
ALTOGETHER PLAIN SPEAKING

STILL DIAGNOSED WITH
SEVERE DEPRESSION AND
A SCHIZOID PERSONALITY

HE ALWAYS THOUGHT
HIM NO ONE
OR LIKE GOD

TELL DEATH I
STOLE HIS OLD
MASK OF HIM

TELL LIFE HE'S
NOT NEARLY BRAVE
ENOUGH TO MAKE

THE SUFFERING END

I've been around
The sun
Twenty-two times

Life's not fun
But Death's one
Long line

Neuroscience is here. Now,
as you read through the piece,
whatever year may be,
consider the poetry
in my child's ignorance
and make beliefs.

It's as if every connection snapped
when my brain said goodbye.
Daily, nightly doses of elsewhere;
wherever the great wave takes me.

Are there new channels I could frequent
to cross the dementias divide
of our biologies?

Shall we grow into Earth
to be songs of gods
and plunder of sinners?

In entropy's defense,
I am not their age of warrior;
I am not this kind of *human;
sabotaging evolution is not my game.

Of drones,
these thoughtless Things,
they've not this network;
these tendrils sapients have made,
They snap when we sleep.

Too few things

Remind me that I'm human:

Yelling lines of poetry,



               begging meaning

               out of chaos,

               finding structure

               in the other.



I find my self crossed

Ready to turn

Out all right



Here I starved

For a world I could shine

Brighter than



I did not see

The beacon between you

And I

To calibrate my rest

I relinquish
where my trauma begins

Unwrap the deadened padding
and speak softly

I grow and wilt
With the season

Causality and forces
at will

Life is movement
I am never settled

I am a person
Trying to write
A letter:

I am just coming to terms
With being
A person

I rebel identity
I've other places
To be

Or not to be a solution
To the question mark
Which birthed us

Can you blame
This mechanism
Of biology

I was born
To play
Defense

And spend myself
Looking up
At the stars