The Thing Is

“The thing about mental illness is…there are no clear boundaries, easy definitions, succinct categorizations or unitary meanings that help waylay the anguish, the despair, or the visceral ontological sense of paradox which become manifest whenever they so choose. My writing allows me to at least attempt to match this epistemological tempest without maliciously inflicting apoplexy on unsuspecting, unprotected, others, while also, simultaneously, decompressing the defining, repeating, infinite moment of haunting loss which holds inside it, and very deep inside its deceptive hollows: the most personal of histories, the richest nuance of experience, and a maginficent potential for profound intellectual communion(within our suffering and grief-stricken souls).”

–Henry Roth (1906-1995)

Fyodor & Boldt

A note from the judge grated edge
Of my frayed Jewish new quarter sock
Writs of delicate Delmore feared dead
Beloved yiddisher farm channel cock

Of such rage for discrimination
A globalized cage open for folly
Just Solly’s contumely-ish mind
Performing fresh in a seminal volley

Faith columns black wind for death
My slop heart sets out brown challie
Mentions of aggrieved missing depth
Diction dizzy in some modern dolly

Take this time issue directly above
It posits construction to be more aspiring
I cohere with this articulately too
Just recently being a blue jay retiring

Species can turn air this summer
Lies may strengthen unfurling squall
White capitals wet thumb the breezes
Dryden’s O is a good goat song call