Unmedicated

It's eleven: I drag myself out of bed. It's noon: I write a note. It's one: I buy some pills It's two: I buy some daffodils It's three: I want to be buried with them It's four: I want to be cremated. It's five: I'm in Central Park. I'm on a bench, I'm crying. It's six: I'm freezing, I cry some more. It's obvious, I'm dying It's seven: I think It's eight: I laugh It's nine: I'm florid -- I'm exuberant. It's ten: I write a manuscript, It's eleven: I try to burn it. It's midnight: And I'm wide awake It's one: And I'm out cold. My brain is like a shaken snow globe with My sanity as unsettled as the flakes. But in my mind, and in my soul, Gravity has slowed.