Dear psychosis, Lowly your voice howlsWithin the wintry confines of my mind.Now is the winterOf my discontent.I feel your veilover my eyes thickening.What is reality? I reach for it,But with broken hands,I can no longer grasp.And now as the veil...

Those silver cans ofgovernment meat, seton the table with a redand white checkeredtablecloth.An old yellow light hungon a chain illuminatingthe can of meat.It tasted like flavorlessgum.It seemed like a mish-mashof byproducts that no oneelse wanted.Mom always tried to makea...