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The Night Before the Therapy Session

The lighted windows bleed into the night

Dread sours inside the little house, in the light

will come a reckoning.  The biopsy will be back

He will hear the things his wife has feared to say

for seven years, she will find in the washed mirror

of the morning the lines that have accumulated, her

lies and wasted time she is accused of, he

will see in the morning paper the story of his cruelty, they

will be told the terror that the children faced, the

tide of her dark rage is rising once again, the

gripping charismatic moon is pulling fluids

toward it through the sky, her blood, his mind,

the sea, the hollow gut of fear, they

will have to swim up on their rage again, they

will bleed and die.

                                      The cool absorbent night

lies soft against the windows bleeding light