Divas' Intelligentsia

The madness
blew in with a wind
straight from The Waste Land

This windy city
full of shirtsleeves
and lonely public servants

wound itself around my
sadness and pushed me
soaking into the harbour

I remain cold, shivering
like the drowned sailor
in Nick's tarot pack.

This is not real, my life.
It did not happen.
Let's just pretend

for two or three minutes
that I am an invention
of the reader's mind.

I can be erased with a piece
of rubber. The editor can
cross me out or

better yet, the tales of
these pages can be carried
by the wind

Into the sea. It is a
sea that still cries for
what I lost back then

Nearly a year ago
When It Happened. But!
I am alive.

I am alive and, so long
as that is true, not much
else can matter.