after Linh Dinh
they asked me but i said no the first time at least so
they insisted said in the nicest possible terms that i
was crazy a danger to myself or at the very least a clear
and present threat or some shit like that which is no
laughing matter kept me a couple days in any case kept
numbers all polite & clinical with hallways & white
coats mindcandy buzzing fluorescence which was
all supposed to help but little did they know i loved
stole words from a reference text rearranged them into
a sandwich was very remorseful naturally as no i think
this is all a big misunderstanding i said again & got to
go home this time no not even piercing the window
with a waterfountain not busting out as some old
stoic trope or anything just straight home to an empty
room with the blinds shut ran into them the next day
then had the best little masquerade party where only the
pills were invited my roommate walked in like
oh.
so i heard it was a miracle she was alive at all didn’t
find out until after not that it mattered much but one
likes to believe had they known then maybe that bright
heroic body double at nineteen would get a chance to
not hesitate grab some poems by the door go down
a long hallway swim under the river breathing through
a reed then give the gods no i mean dog i mean the
guards the slip so i could find her there among the
wreckage of other people’s lives create a diversion using
one of her friends from the ward to distract them all
just long enough to spring the cutest little jailbird
i knew out the door to winter sun and freedom fries
slide across the hood of her car drive west not look
back till we got to the sea but i know babydoll
that ain’t us,
no, no, no—
Jake Vermaas is a poet and engineer out of Portland, OR. He can science the shit out of things and actually be Asian, unlike Matt Damon.
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