by jeanne rené
maniacally tap-tap her manicured nails
across formica wasteland
sequential tip-touch drone
i observe with reluctant objectivity
her fever pitching
eye socket restraining civility
it roars
the bright white chatter
her click click click unraveling
a distorted blink;
"Save me"
can’t save you
safe...I'll keep you...
my hand trespasses
swimming through the buzz
gripping her knuckles
massaging the welted kinks of depravity
relentless tears
laying flat irrepressible coils of Larina
"Why does the crow rest at the top of a tree?"
I’m not sure.
...to look for food?
so it comes
a pause
unconscious calm
a silence
momentary respite
an insipid quiet
barely long enough
to ask for forgiveness
until she smiles:
"Crows perch on top
and chaw at our shadows."
my hand tightens
her lip trembles
explanations snapping
quavering filaments of matter and deed
Note: Occasionally I worked with teens with the onset of schizophrenia. I did not use the actual name in this poem.
