She wants to tear us to pieces for the audacity of it all.

**** us to hell, but still remain a Christian.

And the rant! Each day, her rage, a lance laced in bitterness.

And I can not speak to the contempt, she holds me in,

for some imagined slight, loving her to exhaustion, as she screams, I know,

You have something to do with this!

She is brilliant in that blind way of the highly dysfunctional.

She is bright colors on beautiful days, when she smiles,

the room to dreamy notes of yellow sun.

Some days she takes down, bleary notations in her diary.

Get the hell out of here...buy cat food...eat fruit.

Some days she writes long articles, to the institutions of oil,

sharply upbraiding & filled with wisdom.

Today she is a small branch, gnarled in a rib hug.

She has misplaced something that she believes was stolen.

She claims the devil spites her mind, but she is too smart to listen.

An old acquaintance drops by with cupcakes.

She opens the door and greets them, in perfect intelligence.