So a psychiatrist walks into a bar,
asks for scotch, two fingers deep, no ice.
The strangers with hunched backs
all grunt in admiration and approval around him.
One of them asks him what he does for a living.
He takes a sip without wincing
and doesn’t answer.
There’s a 17 year old patient of his who won’t
stop telling him about how bad she wants him to fuck her.
Another middle-aged woman
can’t take a shower because she
thinks her dead husband is trapped in the drain.
He finishes his drink and thinks
about all the different ways
a person can drown.
A psychiatrist walks into a bar
and gets drunk off his ass drinking hard liquor.
He can’t remember the last time he
felt this full and on fire.
The world is spinning like it’s
trying to run away, so he starts talking
to God in the parking lot.
God answers with a gust of wind
just gentle enough to knock him
to the ground, laughing like a child
who has just heard his first words.
He should probably get some help,
By my intimacy with nature I find myself withdrawn from man. My interest in the sun and the moon, in the morning and the evening, compels me to solitude.
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