Bipolar
Awake night light
jungle twisted branches of thought.
One character linked to the
insane personality of the other.
Bipolar in a universe of singles.
The fear of aloneness hearing
cracks in your walls; jumbling joy
of jumping into the municipal pool
in Hillside, Illinois at 3 am.
Bipolar, bewitched, and alone.
Late to work staring at your
Employer, dart split eyes.
Tattered with memories dancing
on the tablecloth with glee
slapped on the face with a teaspoon
just to feel the sadness leave.
Bipolar, bewitched, and alone.
Seldom ever hear happiness
that doesn't sound like a fire
siren camping in your eardrums.
Meds crank up and crank down;
moods follow the meds
or do meds follow the moods?
Personal wars echo words in my ears.
Even during silent times the night
roars like street jungles.
Bipolar, bewitched, and alone.
Gotham, Oil on Canvas
Chatty women at the dining table
in 19th century garb-
red hats and hair pins
caked with rubies,
ghostly faces acutely obscured,
hue blue matted hair stretching
down like dripping wax.
Menus open out white
as bleached sheets
with no black typeface.
Wine glasses filled with white
clouds, no red juice-
begging in silence to be
lifted up, to be touched
by the missing lips of strangers.
Three mirrors hanging from
frozen air behind the bar
away from the dining area-
circular globs of white reflecting
nothing but moon shapes.
At the dining table ladies
pointing fingers at each other,
ears filled with gobs of paint.
Dull lights in the corners
depicting form, faint
in near darkness.
Their pictured world,
frozen in time, is slapped on canvas.
As the evening wears toward midnight
the painting disappears, emerging
silent characters into madness.
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