Rage does nothing but wither
in the garden wall
still beating
as if it were actually alive
and not Lot's wife:
turned to salt.
My altar of anger is ash
and smoking embers,
reminders
of the heart I used to call mine
that breathed with desire
to change the tundra around it.
I was going to do so much good,
and now, look at me -
a walled garden
of dead things,
slain idols I worshiped
in my sleep,
dreams of revolution rotting
like rosy corpses
as the undertaker
wakes me up just enough
to suffocate from the dirt
of my own inaction.

I am weak-willed and nothing -
I die and live as a whisper
spoken between the grim reaper
tending my grave
and the grass growing from
my decaying soul.

I was told by A"shrink"LAST month that I had Hypermania because I talk faster than the average Joe or Jane. I said, you know, some people read faster than average too. People speak at a speed they are comfortable with. If they don't want to make mistakes during speaking, they tend to speak at the speed they read at or maybe a bit slower. I on the other hand happen to speak fluent gibberish, because I am a virtual speed-reader of *******, so I have a go at it comfortably. Just joking, I don't read *******. I will admit I should slow down when doing a Poetry Reading though, because you shouldn't rush through such. It's kind of like hauling *** on a motorcycle on the scenic route while on a weekend cruise to relax. Anyway, to top off this he claimed another qualifier for my Hypermania was that in my writing to him I was in such a hurry that I "accidentally" wrote abstruse when I obviously wanted to write abstract. I said, "Nooo, I meant to write abstruse." It is a word. It just so happens that one of the definitions of abstract is abstruse -ha ha. But he didn't know that until I told him. Abstruse- Difficult to understand. It's a word, Doc. Ha ha, WordDoc.

You told me you thought I had an extensive vocabulary in the first 5 minutes of meeting with me, so why would you assume it more likely that I ******* up so grossly on a word, than consider the possibility of a word existing without having crossed your eyes or ears? Lol You got a picture in your head of his eyes crossed, didn't you? Me too. ;)

But yeah, I was  "hypomanic" during the observation. Shhh... Even a broken clock is right twice daily.

the sunflowers gleamed
in the noon day sun
their flourish of color
couldn't be out done

the sparrows flitted
above their ravishing visages
they were enchanted
by their dazzling mirages

-- when I have the tenderness of a writhing dragon,
he will paint flowers across my throat

as though to remind me that fires are indelicate,
and that I writhe in a prison made of open space.
-- this man will not smother me with his skin
when we sleep.
-- this man will unhinge the door of my mouth,
and kiss out the bullets stuck under my tongue.
                                                                ­               ---
whatever thousandth day I awaken beside this man,
realizing I have become the flowers he painted
across my throat, by braving my throat,

I will, unchaining myself from the draconic worry,
bring him his coffee in bed, with a smile.