In Diagnosis of Psychosis
in diagnosis of psychosis, his pincer glasses reddening his nose,
the professor’s leverage - his certificate upon his office wall - the know-it-all.
a fragment of his time spent examining inky blots - the bevel of distortions of a picasso-like mind. he derided himself for thinking his patient as a derelict, given his own raggedy suit, long scraggly beard. He tap..tap...taps his pen, thunking it against his papers...tap, tap, tap to the annoyance of this...ahem, derelict.
“I must find a resolution to your illness. This panic you feel when you step into my office,” he can never bring himself to look the stranger in the eye.
with the vortex of a sinkhole, his innards drop out, when the derelict calls out,
“Times up!”
in conclusion of his illusion until next week, he thinks to himself,
‘next time we show up clean cut. that will fool him.’ he takes the blots with him.
he must know the answers for next time. the derelict must be locked up and he must be set free.
6/11/2019
Eight Word Challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Kai Neumann
*My original is 14 lines. Please don’t hold it against me if the poem runs longer on PS.
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