“I guess they found her passed out by a dumpster.
“Empty whiskey bottle laid by the tips of her fingernails.
“Sleeping pills scattered by her feet, like bread crumbs thrown to pigeons.”
“Yeah, where’d they take her?”
“Last I heard, it was an asylum. Somewhere up North.”
“She still posts shit on FaceBook.”
“Yeah, I am sure the nurses grant her human privileges.”
“As opposed to what?”
“A patient’s restrictions.”
…But that’s justice.
To describe mental capacity
As an empty space
Where illness builds a playground
If toes & fingernails
Are more than profiles
Elongated by the Sun’s suicide glare,
Then let the light-bulbs flicker.
Stark as a candle wick.
The eternal illumination
That bleeds a brain like wax.
The final formation of matter
Will redact a damned impression