June 25, 2008  :: 0 comments

the earth rattles somehow.
Lost, the voice dies
like unwatered grass.
A snail moves as
fast as it possibly can
delivering the news
about the dead voice, who
sang of snails, of
crickets, and lawns.
A small vigil was
held at night.
Four crickets
started to
sing in unison. Their
song was loud
and was echoed
by all those
present. Birds sang from the
trees, even the wind
chimed in. For a little
while the dead
voice mattered for
those singing in the lawn
from the surrounding trees
and plants. The snail moved slowly
in the darkness,
unbothered by predators, who
for a little while stopped
to respect the
voice that died.


June 25, 2008  :: 0 comments

These pills are making me pregnant.
They make my feet burn. I don’t like them.
I got rode eleven times. I got satellites
Up in me. I got code. I spoke to
The police already. I was robbed.
A bum took my money. I will take
Buffrin. That is all. I collect
Coins for my daily needs. I can feel
My organs. You have to write that down.

I came back to life. Now I’m drinking
Milk again. I don’t smoke weed. It
Makes me see ferocious things. I don’t
Got a wife. I can’t read. You know I’m
Illiterate. I have the old slushing
Disorder. I’m about to give birth.


June 25, 2008  :: 0 comments

I like to stay
In the isolation room.
I usually
Have to do something
I don’t like to do
To get sent here.

I hate people.
I like to keep to myself.
So now and then
I pick a fight with someone
To get put in

If I was so
Crazy, why would I be able
To get my way?
Sometimes my actions
Work against me.
I get sent to

Jail instead. They
Press charges. I lose my SSI.
In jail it is
More dangerous. I’m so
Scared of that place.
I need to act

More crazy just
To get put back into a
Hospital, where
I feel much safer. I would
Rather be living
In the streets.


June 25, 2008  :: 0 comments

No, I just don’t want to talk to you.
You just want to get rid of me
Because I am a free spirit.

Jewish people don’t want me to
Stay in their hospital. They come
Into my room and make me leave.

I sing my hymns and I pray like
I was taught in my church. I do
Not have to listen to doctors.

I am not underage. I am
Pregnant. I am an adult. I
Have had sex. Thorazine will be

The death of my baby and me.
I don’t have schizophrenia.
Because there is no such thing. I

Don’t like the bitch, slut, ho, who is
My foster mom. Because of her
I am in this place. She used to

Punch me in the face and force me
To take pills since I was a child.
I bet she gave me crack cocaine.

I’m sensitive. I am of sound
Mind and body. Only when I
Don’t take medications am I

Ever in wonderland. I tell you
Schizophrenia doesn’t exist.
I have a master’s degree in

Everything. I know every song
From my church. I sing them aloud
As possible so God can hear.


June 25, 2008  :: 0 comments

Your face is in my dream
On the body of a horse
Racing up in the sky
Without wings.

The head of the horse is
Under the sheets of a film
Producer who was made
An offer
He could not refuse.


June 25, 2008  :: 0 comments

Well, I sleep
To forget
And I drink
To forget
As well, and
I drink in
My dreams to
Forget my
Dreams as well.

Wide awake
I’m a stone.
I could look
Past you. That’s
No joke. Wide
Awake I
Daydream with
A beer in

My hand. And
My name is
John Doe, but
Even I know
That’s not true.
It does not
Matter one
Way or the

Other. I
Keep waiting
For something
Better than
Sleep, better
Than dreams. It
Could be death
Because my

Life is not
Living. Let’s
Toss a coin
And see what
Comes up. I’ll
Take heads and
You take tails.
I don’t care.


June 25, 2008  :: 0 comments

I stashed away
A billion or
So dollars in a
Post Office Box
On Crenshaw or
Martin Luther
King Boulevard.

If you find the
Post Office Box
Please bring me
Back a few tens
And twenties to
Buy me some smokes
And a soda.

You can take a
Few hundred for
Yourself just for
A finder’s fee.
My memory
Is a wreck in
My older days.

I don’t know the
Address or the
Name of the place
My money’s in.
It was a cash
Checking place or
A liquor store.

Take my picture
With you. They will
Recognize me and
Tell you where my
Post Office Box
Is in. Do not
Forget my smokes
And my soda.


June 25, 2008  :: 0 comments

Don’t let the doctor
Tell you my mother
Is sane. She will come
Home and begin to
Rule with her iron
Fist again. Don’t let
The doctor tell you
My mother’s all right.

We know how her mind
Works. She is only
Fine sometimes. Most times
She is controlled by
Forces out of this
World. She takes it out
On us. Please don’t let
The doctor fool you.

I know they cannot
Handle her there. We
Could barely manage
Her when she is home.
She rips us through shreds
With her crazy mind.
We love her dearly.
We are also scared.

Don’t let the doctor
Say she is all right.
We pray for a cure.
Instead they send her
Home worse each time. She
takes it out on us.
It is just not fair.
Perhaps we’re too blame.


June 25, 2008  :: 0 comments

Don’t claim to hear voices.
Keep it a secret if
You want to go home.

Take all your medicine
Even if you don’t
Think you need it or
You cannot go home.

Don’t claim you are Jesus.
You might believe you
Are. But don’t tell
Your doctor or you
Will not be sent home.

Do not stop eating or
Bathing. Go to the groups
And admit you will
Continue to take
All your medicine so
You can go back home.


June 25, 2008  :: 0 comments

I hit that old cow
Because she had
Stinky breath.
How dare she come to
Church like that? I
Hit that bitch.

I knocked the stink right
Out of her mouth.
I was told
That I was wrong. But
I know people
Were happy.

I saw their smiles of
Approval for
What I did.
You just don’t come to
The house of God
With bad breath.