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Let Me Breathe the Paint That Fixes Me

Co-worker’s text book smacked me.
“Insanity.” My heart went boom.
Can you fix me with your new knowledge?

Smell of fresh paint threw my body
up along the ceiling tiles.
That’s it; paint me over.

A thin coat would cover me.
Healing psychosis, let me learn.
Spiritual work is much bigger
than any of the dog shit I do.

I wanted to be that sick man,
that sick man who heals others.
How feebleminded is that?
I also wanted to be Mozart.

Let me breathe the emulsions,
read the psych text books,
and let me live in the park.
Let me die like Mozart.

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