The Poems

Take 1 Tablet(s) Daily

Published On-Line, October 16, 2003

Twenty mils paroxetine HCl. Two weeks in mania;

this is the free ride, bad case

of the giggles on doctors’ samples, kite-high.

When you settle in, there’s a calm, there’s

an “ahh” that skims over

the silver ocean in a hoverchair, breezy and noiseless,

but then you notice: legs are electric, techno-realism

in dream vision, alien feelings

that come in peace, bug-eyed, and strange things below.

Not sure when the lethargy thickens, but it’s ingrown

like a second skeleton,

without joints. Contentment becomes apathy, marble,

even Christ can’t feel the nails when he’s carved of stone.