Institute Of Yearning


Institute Of Yearning.



Like a child he sits
fiddling with

the blocks
of an alphabet

he fails to grasp...

during his brief recess

Much later

he squats in a

bib stained with

a miasma of
graham crackers

and soured milk,
staining a plain

white strait jacket.

A simple-ton of grief,
34 four years old
but left in the hood

of toddler


His folks remember

when he was

newborn and gurgling

his eyes bright

with life's wonders

and all the hope

they'd invested

in a perfect baby.


But then he never

stopped gurgling

and his eyes grew dull

under the weight

of the world.


Thus his parents stand
watching numbly behind,
the one way mirror
that reflects
re-runs of despair....


There is no reception

for them when they

seek to channel love

to their remote son,

only a twilight zone

where they age


and he remains

forever young.





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