Is something on your mind?
My boss asked me to do something good.
I put fibers of my being into the thing
And could not sleep till it was done.Who is your boss and what is her name?
She is a wind out of Texas,
A force of her own creation,
With legs like thick oaks
And a girth that encompasses the world.
Her name is Bellatrice and she is my faux mother.And where are you now?
I am in the pain it was mine to find.
I am in the unbearable closeness
The finished deed has wrought.
She has praised me in a way
That offers only the toxic as its benefit.Can you explain?
I am in the room my mother would call me to
When childhood was mine.
I am in the place of apartness where we lived
Behind the locked door
With meadows in the distance
And the fumes of the city closer at hand.
I am in parks and in towns
And on streets without names
But always I am with her
In the goodness mode
She established as a vibrating presence
In my internal apparatus.Will you be all right? Should we call for assistance?
I will be one with myself
When my bearings
Are dissolved from her person
And I can open the door now closed
And walk to a destination I’m not sure of.Describe it for us. Try.
It has a high cliff and foaming sea
And places to sit with warm tea.
It has boulevards where the old
Who lack provisions
Are blown about
On icy streets
By winds of winter.
It has the turbulence of depths
And the superficial majesty of heights.
It has paths that come to an end
But leave you in sight of others,
Stray newspapers everyone
In the fall of his life must read,
And cosmopolitan offerings
That will leave you speechless with ennui.
Mostly it has prayer every hour on the hour,
The exhortation driven by desperation
To fall on your knees and enter the inner spaces
Where your only hope is to be found.
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