1. The Patient
Spittle slips,
drips
from his limp
lower lip
like some mis-
placed comma
on a casual
midnight's out-
ing, a stroll over the
front of what was
once an elegant
silk shirt as
he does his
catatonic's half-
step shuffle circling
the perimeter of the day-
room, his face frozen
& fixed fast to
the Truth he hopes
to discover written
on the floor tiles as
he tries to get a
grip on the
Self that may be
there somewhere in
one of those squares
spinning about in
a maddening
dervish's dance step,
circling, circling
& heading off
for cities,
continents,
the galaxies beyond.
2. The Orderly
Behind the metal bars & meshed safety glass of the nurses' station,
a night orderly mumbles to himself of boredom & the excruciating
hours ahead before dawn as he tears into his anticipated break-
time, bologna sandwich, tasting little, tasting nothing at all.