They call it psychosis
They call it psychosis my terrifying miracle of inward travel to the moment before the betrayal when man is revealed as beast and the lamb left unsacrificed They call it psychosis my return to the instant before my father's hand slips between my thighs They call it psychosis my precise no that lets my father wear his own dirty shirt and gives me a day of reckoning that takes me to my mother's knees where I lay the truth in epigrams They call it psychosis my pulling of the nails from my palms with my teeth and as the last nail falls chink to the tiled floor they call it psychosis as I slither black and shiny from the cross and leap to the Embracing Mother of possibilities.