After my first double seizure I introduced my beloved to my therapist, thinking I had no idea what was next, and perhaps the two of them might need to interact if this seizure-thing moved on to something else. What was this something else, you might ask? I had no idea. I still have no idea. That's what makes it a something else.
When I sit with you
I figure I must make the most
Of the money I am paying.
This seems to mean
I must fill the air
With the most words possible,
To get the most
Out of our fifty-five minutes.
This morning I wonder
About my beloved.
He says he would like to sit
In a corner of your office
Perhaps even on the floor
Watch the light
Come through the windows
Drink in the possible
Fifty-five minute stop
To the usual
Before moving on
To the next thing.
