CONCUSSION 0H08D
(or “Back Way To The Mental Hospital”)
Haphazardness with uncertain quirks. The last
main corner juxtaposes a junkyard. Psychiatrists
never follow a script, what you feel is
tolerable. The obvious route has padding
that stops mid-air. Every change conveys ability,
impromptu symmetry. If you jump you’ll feel it later—
your sunken body escaping a ravine. Who graded
Overhead Bridge Road? Any permanent whim
can be broken but the significance of self-annihilation,
explicit. Here’s a form for staying
reasonably cool—checkbox for the wreckage
of a crooked signature; your identity abandoned,
asylum complete.
Author’s Bio
MICHAEL QUILTY lives in the shade near Georgian Bay, where talking points & shoulder taps routinely disturb daydreams. His poetry spontaneously delights journals. The poem included here is part of a disjointed but contiguous series taken from a manuscript titled, Portrait Of A Head Shot.