The Interview
What are the names of the unknown faces?
When was the last time that you stayed home?
Where do you go when you are out of places?
Why have you nowhere sweeter to roam?
Who were you with... when you lost your sense of poem?
"ALF. Reading the book of Ruth. Missing. The bees are dying. Amontillado."
Lie back and relax, just a few more questions.
What is rock bottom in your mind?
Where are the clothes you put on this morning?
Why do the Book of Ruth and your own thoughts align?
When the time comes, is there a warning?
Who were you with when ...you lost your sense of rhyming?
"A basement. On the first light. They both open freely. It’s alarming. Uncle Jack."
Lie down and try to relax, only a few more.
What is your Nom De Plume?
Where were you when it got hot?
Why are you here in this room?
When will you open up about being caught?
Who were you with ...when you were shot?
"Ostrich Feathers. The Outback. I’m not. When they close the book. Ruth."
Notes; Subject - Ruth Biddle
Crime - Poaching, during arrest- attempted suicide- head wound.
Recommendation: Continued incarceration. Visions continue, signs of schizophrenia, continue psycho-therapeutic drugs, allow her to write, provide materials. Send writings to Jack Biddle PHD, SRP*
*State Registered Psychiatrist
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Author:
MendedFences27 (
Offline) - Published: September 27th, 2020 22:30
- Comment from author about the poem: I don't know what this is. I doubt that it's a poem, but neither is it a short story. It popped into my head and would not leave, so here it is. Tell me what you think.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 37
Offline)
Comments3
intriguing: as fragmented in delivery as our mind would seem if we were to glimpse behind the curtains of our thought process'...
writing is such a unique aspect of Artistry: millenniums later and still we are no close to taming its spontaneity or drastically diverse ingenuity,
as for meaning: my humble thoughts are that when stripped back from those lines added for rhyming content and embellishments to provide context, I find a deeply passionate voice in your writing, that is musing introspectively about what it treasures - far too much, to simply name and speak about directly,
I relate to that instinctively protective mindset and the never ending yearning to question what little merit exists in my own feeble attempts,
a thought provoking read
writing as a clinical specialist in psychiatry myself ... it would be easy to jump to diagnostic conclusions .. something I have always tried to avoid ... also something hard to not do when a gun is being held against ya temple ... and I aint talking place of worship ...
I love the random yet seemingly seamless flow of this post Phil reminds me of an abstract loose associative and mildly clang reflective thought shower ...
Never heard of Ruth Biddle till now ... I could go on but still suffering from seasonal flu symptoms and writing from my sick bed ....
Whatever the case I think this is great and hope others will follow in the wake I purposefully leave behind .....
Neville
I could not help but read this tale again and again before writing a sensible comment Phil - - - poor Ruth Biddle it seems had no chance after poaching and was ready to end her life yet was kept in cells and administered drugs - writer or interview subject maybe but her psychiatrist uncle wanted her treated - - for what outcome I wonder - - - an innovative piece of writing my friend and a very intriguing read.
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