POETRY | MENTAL HEALTH
The Illusion of Control
Unchosen sky
As I traipse down from this countermand cloud
of one opalescent step forward unto lineless
seraphim wingspans, spanning decades in
my mercurial making
so take
these weatherbeaten wan hands and warm them
between maladroit minds, in pasts of paths
cures for pathfinders lost, and found
lulled, and forgotten
colliding
What if I wanted to break into manic millionfold
pieces, molding myself in mounds of alluvial
soil beneath atrophied abnegation of skin
my solipsistic surface
surreal
subterfuge silence can I constrict my own ill will
willed illness, heeding some caliginous call
yet memories make no splenetic sense
when they’re inlaid
lay still
Stillness begets lassitude, kaleidoscopes of hope
pretty little illusory lies kneading comfort
needing me to play my recondite role
method acting arbiter
atone
principled…
