The First Breakdown
My eyelids dialed in, fireball red.
I don't remember
what was on the radio,
the rain came and
I followed white
divided highway lines
all the way home.
Streetlights waved, wished me well.
Ante up any pity.
With demons in my head near the attic, boxes
of thoughts
sitting and staying put
like a car on blocks.
My guardian angels on the bench.
I cannot be your cure.
And my heartstrings jump
rope on the playground,
though it feels more like
tug of war, right now.
Open Wide -- Jon Beinart
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