The Break

Ah  what wings of madness
bear us up to darkened
places that
are not real - the mind a
singular organ reacts with
distaste to compression and
overload and heaves the
self overboard.  Calmly
blank it looks on as the
tenant drowns.   Yet it
relents and has her back
before the lungs are too
damaged  with the unfamiliar
and cannot breathe. Re-
housed is death, is re-
birth to a shuddered
self who lives by the
grace of a part uncontrolled
by  thought. This is
pure fear. This  is the
hairline fracture that
widens to  crevasse and
one falls down it
to darkness unsurpassed in
wandering
and  the waking pain is broken
limbs, a dying brain that
refuses to chain itself to
doggedness.   There was release.
There  was a letting-go, a blessed
moment of no-thought, no
memory no home no life no
being, just a blank white
cloth stretching.

But the tide rushed back and
polluted me, again
I had to lift the head
and be. Take the weight
and stand the life given me.

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