Blonde Bones Green in the River

 

 

My therapist tells me we have to rule out bipolar.

I tell her when rain plunders the bony river,

no one gets across.

Not a truck high on ego wheels.

Not a man or woman burning. Or screaming.

I tell her I spent the night on the sane side inside the Abiqui Inn.

That I did my assignment. I wrote the letter. 

Dear Desolate, I began.

Dear Staggering Beauty.