Bipolar Hypo (Kind of) Manic

Feb 1, 2019 | 2019 Winter - Bisexuality and Disability, Poetry

By Jane Barnes


I have Medicare D disability free meds a
subsidized place a giant one- bedroom
on a leafy street where I write too many
poems and when I’m a little “up” I’m
amusing but there are too many calls
texts emails mailed clipped articles

helpful suggestions way TOO MUCH
even in meditation I do too much but in an
orderly way and try to remember that all
I have is right now but my synapses
make me move house coasts schools
furniture jobs have a yen to kiss you because

I’m high so I slow and If I interrupt it’s because
I’m on the next corner waiting for you
but these days my meds calm this whirlwind
of a woman whose blood’s caffeine whose
spirit keeps churning into a photographic
still a body caught in motion without motion



Every ten years I fall into a black hole
hard as any suicidal shadow I cannot write
my name can’t write at all good books stay
unread after all I’m leaving can’t walk
only wait for death and then after weeks or
months somehow the butterflies come

back the new sky clouds fresh air I put on
new clothes new hope my poems return
I feel glee though not everything’s pretty even
whimsy makes missteps and puts my foot
in my mouth but I write here expecting just a
little sense Do you see it? Have I made it?

Jane is a long-time New Yorker, currently living in Staten Island.

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