Thorazine at 10:00 a.m.

Nobody told the river run from what you’re made of.

The bramble on & on for miles. On the rocks, unsteady

hem of riverbank. I know by now exquisite gowns

wide open in the back. Old fashioned hospital. The bills

all churning yellow as a heron’s mouth. I’m out to lunch,

some charted water along the bridge of doctor’s nose.

His finger pushes spectacles. He’s troubled by my wonder.

All the daisies I have chained around my neck. He pulls them up

right as he concentrates. I keep my hands behind my back.

I get what’s given. Single file. Some charted water like a miracle

they could have fed the thousands—pristine scripts and pills.

A guardrail on my shoulder, miles & miles. Before I fall

asleep, I dream they gravel every blue thread in the dark.

The bus comes like a flower in the rain.