This ordinary therapy.
The Word Cure prescribes
writing all worries onto paper
long strings of linked letters
loosen the grip of some thing
releases me from the clasp
of cold mechanical dread
that dread, wild and robot-shaped
like a thoughtless metal bear —
bigger, though.
Released, I breathe
Breathe again
Begin again and now and then
even admire
what my hands and words and worries made
of all that pent up brass and fur and fear
