Poetry by Andrea Lambert : A Waiting Lament

A Waiting Lament

I haven’t slept in days
To stay accessible.
Dressed in normal clothes.
Ready to answer the door.
Unlock things as needed.

Not conjuring Hecate and Dionysus
In a circle of crystals and cards.
Or in a medicated sleep
of death
For twenty hours.
Or exorcist crab-walking
Drenched in coconut oil
To touch each door of the house
With my bare foot.

I am not a real person with real problems.
I am an emaciated glamour phantasm.
Reclusive enough to be imaginary.
With hair the color of the moon.
I live scarcely tolerated
At the fringes of society.
I don’t matter.
I am hardly even real.
I am hardly even alive.  

Andrea Lambert is a queer writer, artist and filmmaker with Schizoaffective Disorder. She lives in Nevada with her four cats. Site: andreaklambert.com

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Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Andrea Lambert

By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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