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extra weight of my thoughts
was just another migraine
gone wrong.

I didn't know it would cry
so much, keep me up all night,
demand every minute
of my time, wanting to be fed,
needing to be changed . . .
Lord, more than an hour
without a change and that mind
would stink up the whole house.
Sometimes it just cried
for no reason at all,
refusing to be soothed.

It got to be too much
for a girl like me to handle.
That mind drove me to drink.

Towards the end, all I could afford
was cheap vodka.
It would sleep for awhile,
but wake up screaming
louder than ever.

Finally, one night after the booze
made it warm and sleepy,
I set my thoughts on the steps of a church,
wrapped in an old quilt.
I left no note or instructions.
What would I have said,
anyway?

Insomnia

Tiny bones, those splinters
that form wrist, thread together hand,
little pins that hold flesh to form,