Give me the narcotics; all this morning
these gin tonics don’t do much. Someone, please,
said the fly to the spider with its sting
and long leer. When did I become a tease
to all that tried to help me? Why am I
the one who can’t take friendships easily?
Outside the mud swallow and magpie
fly by my window. There’s something haughty
about my last stand. This is all in flux,
everything smears, everything is a mess
across my face and yet somehow I must
keep calm. It’s a stand; yet roses, lilacs
and the ash can’t help me with my distress.
I don’t want intoxication … just trust.