Benzos, Bardo, and Brokenness | A Poem
by L.M. Browning, from a working collection
There is an 8 min window in the eye of the hurricane
—suspended in the bardo of belief and disbelief—
while the benzo filters into the bloodstream
and the fitful mind with hand outreached,
They say poetry must tell us something of life and the wider-world,
else it is confessional blather beyond use,
but what if I want it to be only for me—in all its obscurity?
What if in the confession of those things never admitted
the outliers find fellowship?
The abnormal is normal
maladjustment is default calibration
humanity is imperfect by nature,
so stop hating yourself for what you are.
Recent Poetry Posts
I hear the voice of god in the hum of the neon sign at the rest stop, where the caravan of displaced desperadoes and expats post-up for the bottomless cup of coffee….
Be gentle long night, I don’t belong here. Thrown to the wolves, I shifted nocturnal.
In a land beyond the pervading dark,
in a state beyond the fever-pitch…