Bipolar Drugs

At night I cannot sleep.

At dawn I cannot wake.

My husband puts the frantic tv on

for our daughter.

It is always a little too happy to be of service.

The laundry shifts uneasily on its weight.

The bunny judges me.

and I am dreaming of past school days,

Wispy as smoke and elusive as rights.

The day is fine

like baby hair.

Every hour must be combed and tended.

It is time to rise,

entranced by the past,

entrenched in the present.


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