Dreams of the Northern Condition

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Fireworks and escapades
throttled by a deep malaise,
nonchalant and maybe
treating me like an old harp.
“Did you fix your problems?” it asks. “I haven’t any.”

Scoffing without arrogance,
it fluxed but shrugged in deference.
It sang me straight speechless,
and lent me a love of gallows humor.
“Did you fix your problems?”

Ghosts hold guns to my head and speak,
you’re not quite right-
just a few steps removed
from normal thoughts and regular nights.
“Did you fix your problems?” “Not yet.”