10 AM:
I talked it out on the couch
but it seems the professional became the patient
I remember more of your issues than I have divulged mine
You smiled as I left
as though you felt relieved to unburden your breast
while I still find it painful to exhale…tell me where to send the bill.

4 PM:
I sat in confessionals
while Hailing Mary and speaking to Our Father
prayed the sinners prayer while passing the collection plate
rubbed the fat mans belly shrouded by the smoke of jasmine incense
and salaam’d again and again to the sisters at the masjid
I have given more than I received
in the hopes that HE/SHE/IT/THEY can bring enlightenment to me
I left with my demons and empty pockets

Happy Hour:
It was never discovered through the pirate in his bold stance
or one more empty aluminum can
so I didn’t imbibe
I didn’t even try
One more round with the therapist who dispenses advice over liquid courage
He seems to hear me so well
I realize it’s a ploy
I am only as relevant as my tab
and he only provides clarity in transparent liquors.

I couldn’t find it through the lip biting,
sheet renting, headboard gripping
petite mort dominated nights
although I tried
over and over (thank you)

It wasn’t uncovered in Ambien induced slumber
eight hours of unconsciousness did not release the power of my subconscious mind
although the body was rested
I awoke to the sluggishness of a bound psyche

Loss of clarity has made an indecipherable maze out of a road map
transitioned the pattern of life into a puzzle of missing pieces.
I can tell you of the places that I searched for it but end with caution
that the road to good intentions is often paved with hell

I seek
I reach
I desire
I crave


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