The Shrink Of The Lonely Household... Poem by RIC BASTASA

she will mistake
art as a form of disorder
it is not unlikely

she fails you
in the Rorschach test
where butterflies leave
from the frame of a page
and goes somewhere else

and there will be more
stories of its adventures
no longer
warranted by the inkblots
of her mind

she takes a closer look
at your nose
and count how many
breaths are you
making in
a minute

she will degrade you
into a candidate for an
electric cure
write the names of
some capsules for your medication
and a letter of recommendation
to another psychiatric doctor


you are not a poet
but a madman eating words
drinking ink
barking like a dog
at the wrong tree
of this world

you keep you fragile wisdom
shut your mouth
pack your belongings &
leave the place
and grow your tiny flowers
somewhere else.