My mind is a half-empty glass of whiskey about to be drained to the rocks.
My mind is a fulcrum for sappy sentiments of lace, satin, and paper hearts.
My mind breathes upon his breath, the breath that heats my face in the night and reminds me I’m alive.
My mind is survived by words on paper.
My mind likes to sleep and dream that death and crushing guilt don’t exist.
My mind relishes the sights of narrow Yorkshire streets and the sounds of the Minster.
My mind is saved by confession and the promise of redemption.
My mind is motion for memories that keep mothers alive.
My mind quivers like Aunt Imogene’s jello from the mold, full of banana pieces and cottage cheese.
My mind needs respite from chatter and traffic and plaid pants.
My mind is harmony and swiss cheese and throbbing Irish punches.
My mind squeezes images of my wedding day
and sings trite love songs.
My mind leaves academia in pursuit of the truth of beauty.