Jail-Bird Hallelujah
An autobiographical narrative poem
The white plastic tray is cohesive, the sole object of sanity.
In this core-cortex: the hum is electric; LEDs and solid metals;
a sundial screws its way through the brain, painting these moments -
I do nothing but draw shit sigils and magic-boxes, and dance.
The police are all Evil and I know they are poisoning me;
I haven’t eaten for a week, except the padding.
Like the Danaides, I murder 50 thoughts per minute: the effort
it takes to fuel this cell is demanding; I pour and evolve,
then will to describe this man-Christ — a meaning and mission;
there is no God now, I have killed Him. He talked too much.
Have seen dark faces near food slot, but cops have killed them.
I reach out-through in the dark, tracing their wall-crosses.
Ka chunk of shotguns; and I would buy the bullets to shoot me.
There is a woman-cop, who comes to cry at my slot — her apples
the only thing I eat; not these pills — they are tongue and cheek.
I do not think I am crazy, only off-center, they don’t understand.
When you see the face of Jesus in a pile of crap, will you know it then?
The Ritual is overflowing the toilet; a chalice melts into a padded wall.
I seethe in strobes of their body cameras; the films no one will watch,
I hope. But all I touch is my data: my own river of digit; my own sciences.
Will there be violations: my finger is bloody, here where I sit as well;
I’ve closed that hole I think now, the fears no longer seeping in.
I recreated it all, today, my own genesis: from the brown I painted it green.
I composed, what Cohen once wrote: “the minor fall, the major lift”. Amen.
MaggotsX @ 2024.05.21
John R. Hampton
Author’s Note: This was how I was officially introduced to Bipolar, diagnosed. It was 2003-ish and occurred just after I walked up to the police and handed them my magic-mushroom stash because, “I didn’t need it anymore”. Which was just after a chaotic and disruptive jaunt through our small Midwest town, making a nuisance of myself in public restaurants (selling my million-dollar idea) and trespassing on private property. Needless to say, I got locked up pretty darn quick. I’d have to ask my folks to find out exactly how long I was in that padded jail cell, but the perception of the illness, and how to handle it, wasn’t where it is today. The apples were real, and probably the only thing that saved me. A great kindness to a lost soul who was going into bodily shutdown from lack of sleep, lack of food and water, and extreme exhaustion from the frenetic activities he engaged in while under the state’s care. Luckily, they were able to get me to a hospital and later a VA mental ward to recover. It’s been a long building back up since then. There was a long time I didn’t want to look at that episode, but I moved on and now I rewind and replay it to know what’s at stake, and what I need to do to avoid it.
A shout-out to Sheridan Walter who shared this experimental existential zeitgeist poetry form he came up with. It was rather amazing how well it worked and how close I could cleave to my actual experiences through it. If any would like to check out the form and what it involved, here’s the link.
Creating an Experimental Existential Poem | Medium
