Schizo Tries Hypnosis – Jake Bailey
(*Please have someone read the poem to you*)
I want to show you something
lean back into being back into being
the cat on the couch at half-past noon
calm your spirit the spirit the spirit
is spire in unmarked cave but your eyes
are heavy and solace is deep lower your lids
but don’t fall asleep I’ll count you down
the steps of the self one foot then two
your feet turn to blue and your arms
and your legs crystalize into sapphire
into sapphire rest here
it’s calm here imagine an ocean
and a warm summer breeze breathe first in
then out be still be still
now enter my mind
you’re fine/ you’re fine
get back in line for the crepuscular
sprockets in the lint in your pocket
squirm/ squirm/ squirming
to the beat at the edge of your seat
of chains/ rope chains/ chains put a strain
on the base of your neck/ let’s inspect
gray matter/ take a sub to the lip of the ship
full of sand/ stand/ stand, feel the weight
of the gun in your hand/ yourself is now
disconnected from the world/ a girl of six
picks up sticks at the edge of the yard
guess you’re charged/ she isn’t there
stop and stare/ stop and stare
start to wear thought on your sleeve
sit and weave perception into miracle
you can see everything they can’t
and you’ll rant about taxes and faxes
and lapses of judgment/ you’ll miss rent
and you’re spent like a coin doused in grease
just release/ just release
feel your mind rise and fall
this is all/ this is all/ this is
what you’re dealt/ felt and sky where they
aren’t and they’re sent to watch you
unshed/ you follow the clues in your shoes
they’re beacons of bounty/ end up in county
and ward/ after ward/ after ward/ afterward
you’ll stroll the streets and repeat and repeat
time after time/ it’s a crime to be crazy
still hazy/ still hazy
napalm is your brain on vacation/ remember
your station/ mitts turn to ants/ envelop
your pants and more and more
the man is here with a hat in his hair
black silhouette screams as bear
as beaver/ as bore/ wanting more/ wanting more
his mouth unhinges like the center of a black hole
it’s your soul/ it’s your soul
your hands reach for the scythe to slit
and slip six-legged sentinels from the pit
of your paws/ then saw/ then saw
syrup stains the rawest of pain
you are claimed/ you are
not sane/ sane/ sane/ sane
the mind is/ incomplete
this voice will eat/ this voice will eat
retreat to the beach reach for balm
then calm then calm it’s calm here
bend your soul against your brain
and feel it rise and fall rise and fall
and rise into sky the soul is the chaos
of the divine if we were whole
we’d never be fine finding your footing
in rip-tattered genes never means we’re the ladder
or the cell or unwell say to yourself, “Existence
matters,” then shatter then shatter
then build a cathedral with a tattered steeple
and remember that life, itself, likes people
open your eyes listen to mutter
The vine always stems / from the gap in the gutter
Jake Bailey
Jake Bailey is a schizotypal confessionalist in Antioch University Los Angeles’ MFA program and the co-editor of poetry for Lunch Ticket. He has published or forthcoming work in FlyPaper Magazine, The Laurel Review, Pidgeonholes, formercactus, The Hellebore, Barren Magazine, and elsewhere. Twitter: @SaintJakeowitz.