from Anatomy of Depression
the world as ordered                      if you depend
on your mind for translation
if you recognize these thoughts as other
or if you deny easily that
which could be defined as disturbing
a romantic indisposition
I believed I had a right to my wrong thinking on some level.
it was mine and to be defended
as a species of flower
as a turn in the weather
as a geographical pinpoint
as a location found by vertical and horizontal planes intersecting
it’s one thing to speak of what is misfiring
and another to locate
here in the deep, deep recesses of porous organ
half able to function coherently
what half is left and is this accurate
what percentage and on what days and on what dosage
Are you beginning to divide
the notion of trust?
animate object: as other that lives in me
inanimate object: as quieted by this medicine and
put to sleep, a wild animal stuffed and mounted
of how it arrived
as a gift from those before me
a realm of suffering
to greater clarity
here is the diseased mind realm
am I making too much of it?
I’d hate to draw attention to it, the gaze then lends it value
but to ignore—does “not seeing” mean… what am I afraid of is that
the reader will think it is simply the vehicle for my desire, for my
identity but I am the vehicle, I’m certain, that it has gotten in
where are we going?
a small insect blows onto the open pages of Brenda’s book
lands on “Rare held over world”
from here on Folsom Street
I can see Jack Collom bringing in his dirty laundry
define the hidden: as dirty laundry
skeletons in the closet
skeletal: tactile, able to walk out on its own
laundry: tactile, able to be cleansed
this is a map of hope in revelation
mind as imaginary, as illusory, as porous
the examiner knows that when you open the skull
the brain can crumble within seconds
upon losing its container
fragment                                fragile                                fingered mush
must be poisoned further to provide the perfect specimen
formaldehyde, spun in a web of fluid and glass
suspended and sliced to millimeter
slid onto thin sections of plastic and caught under the magnifying glass
this sheer exposition
what went wrong?
even then how to connect dead tissue to the imagination
to the cellular experience
to see how the drugs changed the identity
my place in the world
the amount of space I took up
the gap left that haunted me
where the I     I was not fell behind
but followed me
I can see her out of the corner of my eye.
who said this?
Am I too gone to be
Being healed is a misnomer.
Health in that sense is not
Remove heal from thy language.
Megan Burns is the author of Memorial + Sight Lines (Lavender Ink 2008). She has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize in poetry and has been published in Exquisite Corpse, Contance Magazine, YAWP and Callaloo. She lives in New Orleans and runs the 17 Poets! Reading Series with poet Dave Brinks.
Megan Burns Jefferson Hansen Lois Marie Harrod Michael Lee Johnson Christopher Barnes Linda Graham Laurie Cook