every night, we drink from the

every night, we drink from the
bottle we labeled healing
to give our brains authority
over our bodies
even at rest –
no one is collecting
data from this runaway
placebo effect
.
20100414:2218
y

5 comments

  1. Glenn Buttkus

    What fascinating creatures we are, part spiritual, part tissue/organ/and bone. We often are amazed at how easily the freight train of emotion barrels over the top of the plateau of intellect, that we “know” better about something, understand that certain actions will complicate a situation, but the thrust of emotion is so strong
    it can not be parried; it must find an outlet in volume, in tears, in broken plaster and pewter, in fists of rage, in flights of fancy. It is now understood that a heart can actually break, that symptoms of miacardial infarcts can blossom from emotional pain, depression, stress, rejection. Like that line of Robert Blake’s in ELECTRA GLIDE IN BLUE, “Loneliness can kill you every bit as well as a .44 Magnum.” Healing is a blessing, from a paper cut to an emotional schism, somehow we strive to find our way back, back to stability, to balance, to today masked as tomorrow. Per usual, loved your poem.

  2. Glenn Buttkus

    Thanks so much, Pearl, and of course Yi-Ching. Just visiting this fab site has become the highlight of each day. Poetry finds its own level, doesn’t it? I re-read my comment and realized that the poetics were locked in prose, that it already was a prose poem, but it lunged for the freedom of verse and line breaks.

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