antipsychotica
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I don’t imagine a blank space.
Maybe location is the sixth sense. Every body has a border. Oh no, they don’t. Every body, a seeping creature. If I bark out light. Hint: there never was a cure. Delicious mechanics, to write beautiful lists. Fantastic impulses. And that’s what I am, a body questioning the tools. Morning dew in this sequence. |
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ANTIPSYCHOTICA
When I’m finished, I’ll let you know.
Every sequence, crashing into.
White pillows, but then three weeks
later, the pillows change.
I keep track of the pillows.
My life in her dissection, my oh.
Who decides what depth is anyways?
Oh, breaking into.
She favors flowing, gauzy skirts.
Festive toenails with vibrant lacquer.
She’s my way out of this tall catastrophe.
Later, I make tea in my homelight.
I take notes in the yard, not far
from a harbor breeze.
Every sequence, crashing into.
White pillows, but then three weeks
later, the pillows change.
I keep track of the pillows.
My life in her dissection, my oh.
Who decides what depth is anyways?
Oh, breaking into.
She favors flowing, gauzy skirts.
Festive toenails with vibrant lacquer.
She’s my way out of this tall catastrophe.
Later, I make tea in my homelight.
I take notes in the yard, not far
from a harbor breeze.
Jenny Drai is the author of three full-length collections of poetry, two poetry chapbooks, and a novella. Learn more at jennydrai.com.