Friday, July 15, 2005

Marsha, Marsha Marsha...

...Peggy, Veronica, Victoria and Sybil. What if Eckart Tolle had multiple personalities? "Who is talking? No, I really mean it, who is talking?"

Can you imagine a mind that is like a hall of mirrors?

By now you've guessed this week's poem is about MPD. It's an older work, and not terribly sophisticated, but who doesn't love poetry about mental illness? I mean, the stuff practically writes itself.

The story of Sybil Dorsett scared the crap out of me when I was in grade school. Then I read When Rabbit Howls, and decided that this whole world is a fucked up place for little girls. It's hard to be an army of one; but maybe we're all kept together by many concerned Threads.




At any given moment,
her whereabouts are
up for grabs.
She’s grown into
a community
of citizens inside her.

All for one,
and one for all.
they’ve each a name—
and each facet, whole.

Their host, once broken,
now fixed and fastened
by many concerned Threads.
each sane enough,
with its charge
of pain’s sore wisdom.

Town meetings seldom
see them,
but exists each one,
inside some
tentative eternity.


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