Her auspices bred my mind
And they fell men
There are stories
That speak of her possessiveness:
She owned dogs on leashes
Their psyches capricious
Her auspices should have whelmed me
If not convinced me
That I am not such a dog
Or such a thinker in bipolar limbo
My leash sits in my own hand, but her eyes yet exist
Which gives me tremors
I imagine her hands try to live vicariously through mine
I imagine her auspices have silver-linings
The guidance I’m maligning
Is okay…