luvox
in 2001, Mark Taylor, the first student shot at Columbine, sued Solvay Pharmaceuticals.
Taylor claimed their medication induced homocidality and psychopathy in Eric Harris.
Night, the cosmic song. Blame, a teenage god.
The fury and the glowing of a boy’s face
washed in media, the television’s cold light
and his dull eyes, worshipful, that bask in horror movie
and in sugar
and the drug.
Faith commands pills to his lips,
each blue as lightless sky
and boot polish and spit
the brutal foment of the teeth
and blame, and how we hoped we could believe that medicine
would call for night’s deep kiss
and pull the deep blood from our children.
Animal, the whips of smoke that vomit from the windows
of a high school library
black as an eyelash.
Ink, to come from armied secrets,
bombs and bad weather, and rage
and rage.
Left untreated, an unbalanced mind
will suffer. Ignored, it suffers nothing. Nobody.
It grips the neck of each small joy,
its fingers squeezing on the tattered edges of the air
and blame, the trigger to a gun.
by Sean Patrick Mulroy
Taylor claimed their medication induced homocidality and psychopathy in Eric Harris.
Night, the cosmic song. Blame, a teenage god.
The fury and the glowing of a boy’s face
washed in media, the television’s cold light
and his dull eyes, worshipful, that bask in horror movie
and in sugar
and the drug.
Faith commands pills to his lips,
each blue as lightless sky
and boot polish and spit
the brutal foment of the teeth
and blame, and how we hoped we could believe that medicine
would call for night’s deep kiss
and pull the deep blood from our children.
Animal, the whips of smoke that vomit from the windows
of a high school library
black as an eyelash.
Ink, to come from armied secrets,
bombs and bad weather, and rage
and rage.
Left untreated, an unbalanced mind
will suffer. Ignored, it suffers nothing. Nobody.
It grips the neck of each small joy,
its fingers squeezing on the tattered edges of the air
and blame, the trigger to a gun.
by Sean Patrick Mulroy
The house where Sean Patrick Mulroy grew up was built in 1801 and was commandeered by the union army during the civil war to serve as a makeshift hospital. As a boy, Sean loved to peel back the carpets to show where the blood from hasty surgeries on wounded soldiers had stained the wooden floorboards. Now he writes poems. http://www.thevanishingman.com.
