Sestina to Cymbalta

For three days I’ve been without meds.
On the fourth I’m e-e-e-vil with pain.
Beta seeking, opening mouth,
I in/cant O-O-O-Os to free muscles.
My day’s devoted to scoring pills.
On the way to the clinic, zoned

on radio in a slow zone,
I keep thinking about these meds
I’m hooked on. Withdrawal from pills
that keep me feeling no pain
seems bearable now, the muscles
that connect neck and tight-clamped mouth

looser. I open my mouth,
seeking again the touchy zone--
habitually locked muscles
the seratonin uptake meds
dully mask. Now the zig-zag pain
is gone, but still, I want those pills.

What I can’t conquer without pills
drives me. I think it’s just my mouth
that betrays me. Life is a pain.
I’m driven past the comfort zone
of habituation the meds
provide. I say No! the muscle-

mind trip urges every muscle
to freedom, save those fucking pills
the psychiatrists med-ify
to keep shut tight our minds and mouths
in the humming corporate zones
where we die without feeling pain.

On the fourth day I can bear pain
to feel the way mind moves muscles.
Correspondances in the zone
of nothing left to lose. Waiting pills,
I talk with one who hears God’s mouth
and counts visions real. He’s here for meds.

Billie Maciunas