Mount Myshrinks

I.

I blew up a mountain into the face of my shrinks.
I was saying thanks.

In the far corner is the mien of Herb Eveloff,
shrink of my earliest days.
It must’ve been very tough treating me, mom, dad, and both sisters.
My seating posture is modeled after him.
He told me to carve out small alcoves of meaning,
which was preferable to jumping off the very expensive stone balcony.

He knows that for youth, song is what to share
(I LOVED YOU! I LOVED YOU! I LOVED YOU!)
this is his song, whistled through the nose cavities
of the great mountain:

Carthago delenda est:
Beneath its lethal flora:
A Beanie Baby for the best
at learning to restore Ma.

Little time needs be spent on the squat jowls
and appraising agility and anger of George Davis,
Cognitive Behavioral Dialectician Delectable.

Doctor Davis:
I gathered that time was not dilating around me, so much as it was
being raggedly overparsed.
Time being held on to
till time was obviously bored with it,
you were obviously bored with it.
Perhaps I even began to be bored of it.

Your spectacles are thin. Are you skeptical?

I tried to make a shrink of you and you a man of me
and your
advice is the kind I give most freely.

This is what I said to you, in your office:

Dr. Davis, let’s pick a daisy:
You have free will,
You have free will,
You have free will,
You have free will.

I have free will?
Oh look, it isn’t a daisy anymore.
Do you think
it might like to marry me?

Avraham Bartel you fucking animal, you Theodore Fucking Roosevelt fart-propelled from hell.

I don’t care how witty you are, I’m the one with the feelings to be witty about. I’m participating. My mother is the bag of chemo in the scene where she makes me with my wet-nosed dad—remember I said. You said they broke the mold when they made me. Your smile holds my future: is it disgust, hope, pity?

You gave me some shitty advice, my friend. I could’ve been LACUNA. That effortless night, when she and I LACUNA blood unhemmed LACUNA her dulcet, frightened appeal met with a grating ventriloquism of your median psychodevelopmental bathos-koans. We LACUNA Bartel, dazzled by the showmanship of your normalcy, my Bow Tie God: does the Bow Tie spin or is it the universe? Leash of Leashes, LACUNA, my Seratonin Moses: churning open and bloodying the deltas in which swim the eels of my sleep with the iridescent powders of your faith LACUNA LACUNA

II.

Brave Stan Possick.

Behold a forehead teaching me sympathy.

Behold the burden become the honor

of the recognition of another light in the world.

 

How can light see light, Brave Stan Possick?

The light that comes from seeing light,

that composes in the face of other light:

this is not the stuff of our physic.

 

You have defended me from me when I needed it.

But have told me to be clear.

But have told me to be honest.

You are not just blown into this rock:
I filled you with a fish tank of undying love,
invisible to anyone.
The fish will need no light, and grow flexing and firm,
and have their own light, and the net of your light
they will see you inverted,
revealed to them the redolent mechanics
of a face capable of perfect love.
And they will play in the little bath-temples of your eyes.

The contents of your stone head
will be the world if I had been born in your basket,
plunked down there with all my loved ones.
Andrew is there too, with a big blue tail he’s proud of.

A POEM BY MAX FROM SAD DR. POSSICK TO MAX

“I will never stop missing you, even when we go nowhere.
I will never stop missing you, even when you go, nowhere.
I will never stop missing you even when I go nowhere.”