JB's Moderation

Where did I go?
besides outside myself
I went far, and I did little,
comparatively speaking.


Where did he go-
certainly outside himself
into halls of sterile ideas.
an experimental rat, daily
poison to his bones-
clever concoctions
of pharmaceutical balance.

He says he doesn't remember it
until now, how he got there
but he knows why, his bleeding
eyes spitting manic glares.

He slept little, wrote much
a crescendo of effective being
(in the eyes of the writing forefathers).

He did much, created
far outside himself,
the red flag for the disorder- no, boy,
you've got the sleep much, write little
let your brain hibernate, you're too smart kid.

you wrote too much, now you're cursed,
now your conversations scare us.
come back to convention, sleep much
drink much, abolish ties to literature
those pen junkies will steal you from the world.

you've got to sleep much, work much
hate your job and tie your shoes
with sappy liquored hands.

take the red pill, fuck, the blue pill
take them both as long as you're numb

eat junk food, collect quarters to call home
and bore yourself,
going as far as the blind cat goes.

you're crazy kid, and you must cloak
these feelings, you could hurt yourself.
stay in this hospital, this rescue
so your parents can smile again,
so you can be a son and brother again.

fall out of love with Keats, Mirakami,
determinism,
these are bitter fruits.
eat the red pill, swallow the blue
pill, take them both as long as you're numb