%title Mental health
:writing:poetry:mental-health:

!{In *Eigengrau*}

'''
There is too much fire in me
to be described by the soldering iron's tip.

If I were to draw that across my flesh,
   it would all spill out at once.
I'd melt, eaten whole by flames,
    and flow into a pool of molten silver.
I would be borne up through the clouds,
    and grow lighter by the second.
Sublimation would claim me then,
    atoms would scatter, diffuse.
All that energy poured to the air around me,
    an imperceptible increase in temperature.
Particle would excite particle
    until I'm felt only as warmth on your face.

But even that would not be enough.
'''

-----

## Heligoland
!{In *Eigengrau*}

'''
Too many wine-dark seas need daily traversal,
And here the shipping forecast calls for rain.

The shipping forecast! What a load of bollocks.
You can listen from start to finish
And not hear a single word about how a day will feel.

Or maybe it's a pale, tired, steganography:
Moderate, becoming poor, violent storm 11.

Burning up, drowning, torn by wind, and all I can manage
is to tell you southwest gale 8 to storm 10.

I can point at the moon, exhausted, bored, decaying,
And hope you don't stare blankly at my finger.
'''

*Thanks to P.R.*

-----

## Bruise vision
!{In *Eigengrau*}

<style>
.row {
    display: block;
    vertical-align: top;
}
.col-md-4 {
    width: 30%;
    display: inline-block;
    vertical-align: top;
    padding: 0.5rem;
}
.text-right {
    text-align: right;
}
.col-md-8 {
    width: 60%;
    display: inline-block;
    vertical-align: top;
    padding: 0.5rem;
}
@media only screen and (max-width: 500px) {
    .col-md-4, .col-md-8 {
        width: 100%;
        display: block;
    }
}
</style>

<div class="row">
    <div class="col-md-4 text-right">
    <h3>I</h3>
    <p><em>Geese Level:</em><br />
    Unnerving</p>
    <p><em>Expect:</em><br />
    Anxiety</p>
    </div>
    <div class="col-md-8 verse">
A hundred geese overhead —
    A thousand —
        A million —

Heady scent of premonition.
Acrid tang of ill omens.
Portents.
Too much meaning
    In too small a space.
    </div>
</div>

<div class="row">
    <div class="col-md-4 text-right">
    <h3>II</h3>
    <p><em>Geese Level:</em><br />
    Noise-Cancelling Headphones</p>
    <p><em>Expect:</em><br />
    auditory aberrations</p>
    </div>
    <div class="col-md-8 verse">
Geese are a byproduct of laminar shear stress
    Of two layers of phantasmagorical
        Newtonian fluids,
    Which is why they’re often seen on a plane.
A thin, sort-of Truth
    From a sort of thin layer
        geese chromatography.
    </div>
</div>

<div class="row">
    <div class="col-md-4 text-right">
    <h3>III</h3>
    <p><em>Geese Level:</em><br />
    Eldrich</p>
    <p><em>Expect:</em><br />
    red tint to vision; hot flashes</p>
    </div>
    <div class="col-md-8 verse">
As the dove bears the olive branch,
    so too the goose bears the wand
        that withers all it touches.
A wand of nightshade,
    Core of tainted silver.
A wand of obscure origin,
    The goose surely stole it.
Malice begets malice.
    </div>
</div>

<div class="row">
    <div class="col-md-4 text-right">
    <h3>IV</h3>
    <p><em>Geese Level:</em><br />
    Beyond Comprehension</p>
    <p><em>Expect:</em><br />
    confusion; nausea; sweating; racing pulse</p>
    </div>
    <div class="col-md-8 verse">
We know not the transgression,
    the origin -
We know not the punishment,
    only the terror.
    </div>
</div>

<div class="row">
    <div class="col-md-4 text-right">
    <h3>V</h3>
    <p><em>Geese Level:</em><br />
    Excruciating</p>
    <p><em>Expect:</em><br />
    pounding heart; tunnel vision; racing thoughts; black outs;
blood pouring from ears</p>
    </div>
    <div class="col-md-8 verse">
Geas
    Wing
        Dark
            Horizon
    </div>
</div>

<div class="row">
    <div class="col-md-4 text-right">
    <h3>VI</h3>
    <p><em>Geese Level:</em><br />
    Terrifying</p>
    <p><em>Expect:</em><br />
    tinnitus; piloerection; shortness of breath; uneven gait</p>
    </div>
    <div class="col-md-8 verse">
I’d rather owls.
Owls, as though geese were turned inside out,
    made less evil.
Still portentous,
    Still momentous,
    Just less terrifying.
Owls are okay.
I can think about owls.
    </div>
</div>

<div class="row">
    <div class="col-md-4 text-right">
    <h3>VII</h3>
    <p><em>Geese Level:</em><br />
    Uncomfortable</p>
    <p><em>Expect:</em><br />
    subdermal itching; formication</p>
    </div>
    <div class="col-md-8 verse">
Life within a comfortable grid.
Parallel lines
    Interrupting narrowing circles
    Of birds in flight.
Travel in straight lines.
Turn at right angles.
Trace the roof of your mouth
    With wet tongue.

I’m not afraid of geese anymore
    Because I can step on them now.
I’m big enough.
    </div>
</div>

<div class="row">
    <div class="col-md-4 text-right">
    <h3>VIII</h3>
    <p><em>Geese Level:</em><br />
    Birds</p>
    <p><em>Expect:</em><br />
    birds</p>
    </div>
    <div class="col-md-8 verse">
Ritual thinking
    Driven by geese —
    By lines, by grids, by food —
    By numbers and neat delineation.
And I’m left with questions:
    Why the portents?
    Why the anxiety?
Or maybe:
    Did I take my meds this morning?

Failing that,
    Can I just have the comfort of prayer
    Or the ecstasy of signs
        Without bleak paranoia
        Over circling birds?
    </div>
</div>

*Thanks to C.M.*

-----

!{First-place winner of the [Typewriter Emergencies Poetry Contest](https://www.typewriteremergencies.com/single-post/2018/02/13/Beneath-her-coat-was-a-whole-identity---1st-Place-Winner).}!{In *Eigengrau*}

'''
Beneath her coat was a whole identity:
A subtle form of ideas under soft fur,
A constantly shifting mass of meaning...
And somehow, she pulled it off.

She would go for days without shedding a thing,
And then, as if a bottle rolling off a counter,
She would shatter, sending shards of self flying,
And then we'd all see.

Then we'd all see the terror, the joy,
Then we'd all see the grief at nothing,
Then we'd all hear her say,
"I'm not built for a life with death in it."

And slowly, she'd pick herself back up
And find a brand new way to piece herself together
And build herself a brand new smile
And brush out her coat once more.
'''

-----

## Asertu
!{In *Eigengrau*}

'''
Disvolvu mian haŭton el mia karno
Verŝu mian sangon el mi kiel vino
Prenu mian vivon, tenu ĝin sub via lango:
    Amara pilolo por gustumi

Bruligu min, entombigu min poste
Loku ŝtonon super kie mi kuŝas
Lasu tempo manĝi vian memorojn pri mi
    Lasta peceto por gustumi
    
-----

Unwind my skin from my flesh.
Pour my blood from me like wine.
Take my life, hold it beneath your tongue:
    A bitter pill to savor.
    
Burn me, then entomb me.
Place a stone over where I lie.
Let time eat your memories of me:
    A final morsel to savor.
'''

-----

## Rush
!{In *Eigengrau*}
!{In *ally*}

'''
A flash of coppery sweetness,
A clearing of the sinuses,
A burst of unnamed colors,
A rush of creativity, of wonder,
Velvety softness, a low hum,
And then the wave recedes.
'''

-----

## Cycle

'''
Up cycle
Down cycle
Round and round

Push cycle
Pull cycle
Round and round and round

Here cycle
There cycle
Round and round

Bounce cycle
Slide cycle
Round and round and round

Free cycle
Wild cycle
Round and round

Unstoppable cycle
Uncontrollable cycle
Round and round and

Slam cycle
Crash cycle
And round and

Cut cycle
Burn cycle
And and round and

Crush cycle
Destroy cycle
And

Plan cycle
Note cycle
Rou-

Shower cycle
Wash cycle
.

Up cycle
Down cycle
Round and round
'''

