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The Hiss Quarterly Vol. 5 ~ Issue 3 Ekphrasmagoria |
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 © Michael Johnson / All Rights Reserved |
Deep into the forest the trees have turned black, and the sun has disappeared in the distance beneath the earth line, leaving the sky a palette of grays sheltering the pine trees with pitch-tar shadows. It is here in this black and sky gray the mind turns psycho tosses norms and pathos into a ground cellar of hell, tosses words out through the teeth. "Don't smile or act funny, try to be cute with me; how can I help you today out of your depression?" I fell jubilant, I feel over the moon with euphoric gaiety. Damn I just feel happy! Back into the wood of somberness back into the twigs, sedated the psychiatrist scribbles, notes, nonsense on a pad of yellow paper: "Mania, oh yes, mania, I prescribe lithium, do I need to call the police?" No sir, back into the dark woods I go. Controlled, to get my meds. I twist and rearrange my smile, crooked, to fit the immediate need. Deep in my forest the trees have turned black again, to satisfy the conveyer-- the Lord of the dark wood. |
