%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 '''