locked Ward –

laying on a plastic mat spit on my lip

i lean into her, my magic muse

watching me at the door -- keep

quiet she says you will be ok

look at me i will watch over you -- words

go ravening in my mind conflating

reality with desire pouring out

twisting spasms of time and place -- i

can't remember my name

i keep falling and falling

through bloodred skies aching

with longing in my heart she

there at my door looks kindly

on me with boots, high boots she

sits one leg crossed over the other

she is my ticket to salvation a

manic mind hurting with intuition

yearning for remittal of my sins

who am i her child here

suffering the lessons of youth in

a locked ward pianos sounding out

summertime in Sound

and logic

behind blue eyes? . . .