there’s a liquid sky
with every star posing
as incense– as feathers.

fall below me; I’m losing
my marbles or unwinding
these strings.
this yarn is glued—plaster holds

keeping my eyes

it’s superstition–

the conch

I scattered boxes,
collecting things or
or tickets to there
or here
or mangy wristbands

because I’m under
and under
that artificial reptile
who said,
“Oh the places you’ll go.”

oh, and the places I’ve been;
in to out of my head,
back again,
collaged with nylon

(closets piss me off)
like crocheted flowers
of life

press in books
of the Egyptian dead.

and then some,
is above my bed.



About Robyn

"If you haven't known insanity, you haven't lived."
This entry was posted in Recollecting India, Recollecting Insanity, Recovery (USA) and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to untitled

  1. because I’m under
    and under
    that artificial reptile

    wow!!! those lines blow me away along with the rest of your intense visual style of words.

    What inspired you to write this awesome piece?


    • Robyn says:

      I am glad you enjoyed this so much! It was a quick poem I just sort of spit it out— I blame my trouble sleeping because all the imagery is inspired by what I have by my bed from the incense, dreamcatchers, pillows, sculpture (of an eye made of yarn and plaster) and yada yada yada— all consisting of their own story and reason for placement, the reason I keep them so close to me.

      Here’s a link to an old picture of bed-area, since then it has been modified to fit the above format: https://scontent-b-mia.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-prn2/v/t34.0-12/1454424_274034459414287_800785611_n.jpg?oh=00f9c1bc0ef43b5c7bce91f5d57004e8&oe=5380F1C0

      Regarding the quote you pointed out:
      That is referencing the pink box on the bottom right shelf which is the most important box of all the boxes I collect (and I have a fuck-ton of boxes!). It holds an assortment of things like letters from sentimental hearts, an old cell phone that has messages I sent when I was clinically insane, an assortment of random business cards (that I thought were important to collect for some delusional reason) and many other small but important symbolic triggers that lit up my memory and help me find clarity of my thoughts while I was in psychosis… I think I should write a whole poem about that box now..
      Thanks for the added inspiration and words of encouragement :)
      It really, truly, means a lot—


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