D i a g n o s i s

sam sax

  we should have you


                                                     we should have asked

                                                     what’s wrong

  no commandment

  handed down

                                                     makes sense

                                                     from the chaos

  i mistake the satellites

  for comets         pause

                                                     a comma hurtling

                                                     through the black

  my mind a little metal

  satellite hoarding

                                                     boring data, always

                                                     in orbit around

  the flies     pause

  we should have called

  before we came

                                                     mother says nudging

                                                     my bottles back

                                                     below the bed

  me covered in bugs

  in my brain again.

  hear the clear bell

                                                     ringing anyway

                                                     this is where

                                                     the line breaks



                                                     for no reason

                                                     other than the beauty

                                                     of the page   pause

  where a staggered

  thought meets

                                                     the profound metered

                                                     evenness of the world

  the world

  at rest. any disease

  of the mind traced

                                                     back to its origin

                                                     is a sickle

  is silk

                                                     it’s sick isn’t it?

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