Scrupulosity
dust rain drops, film coating
glass panes, where daylight should
refract, an unaligned machine in my head
steel wool in my ears, another question
without answers
my mind that tired black beetle
body below the boulder pressing up
under the titan it names home
therapist one slides me seven
pink pills in a yellow paper
sleeve (to stop
the beetle from screaming
seven strong pink pills to get
drunk without a drink
a full yellow sleeve I never
teach myself to open
too afraid to submit
to the loss of control
because sleeping beetles don’t get strong enough
to do the heavy lifting of homes)
& a quieter pill
in an orange pill bottle
with paper piece
wrapped around, telling
in specific syllables what rolls inside
how to take it
when to get more
to brighten the black, so
I take it & stop & take it & stop
& take it, until I think I know I need it
still, the stone named home
grows to be a god
& the help isn’t helping
telling me to confess, to move on
I move on
therapist two takes away my take it & stop
lets out phrynus legs
& lusty bodies
it all works well ‘till the shadows lose
their sharper shapes to night
& serpents, transparent, smother my mind
then back to the take it & stop
wanting the yellow papered pills
ignoring until
everything gets bored or busied
& leaves me
until the aloneing becomes long
& little black beetle (maybe stronger)
moves on