after "the interviewers" by Hank Bukowski
the asylum inmates
the asylum inmates meander in
and they do more or less whatever
they want to.
it’s
educational
and the attendant’s lesson
is to listen in
and take
notes.
some days they all gather round
sad janet and big dog
jake
and first one then another
offers cigs
hugs and kisses
shakes.
I don’t sense they’ll ever
know the greater world’s gone
cuckoo.
it feels okay to stay
mad:
I hear whispered
asides:
“I prefer to be King
Lear . . .”
or: “I feed Nurse Ratchet
all of my meds.”
how cool, that high school
English class
in modern America is
teaching students how to
know
truth: “I studied
Faulkner so I
could speak
in tongues.”
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