Crying from the seam of the eye
subsides the deep vortex of vanity
that has always been absent from my intellect.
The gentle tear flows like a spear
into the vulnerable ego
that once propelled my writing and is now absent.
The class is empty.
O anger, why have you turned inward?
Only to face my melancholy,
I fake a smile.
My raised facial muscles
believe that they can transfer
depression into glee.
And I and me fight for the writing
so it will continue,
despite the flight of tragic whims
inside my heartless head.
My absent heart has feelings for others,
just not for me.
Fancy flies forward
to remind me that emotions emote
inside my drudging mote that quickens and deeps
like a mole digging tunnels to meet its girlfriend.
My heart swells for opportunity
and returns to exchange love with a lucky one.
Absence is best when it is absent.
As a genuine girl, I offer my gift
someday to see what's inside of me.
The tear tears up and falls over and over
to find a check
that is the land mind of sincerity.
This salty water brings
a reminder of disdainful days
and notorious nights where I
felt my id as the lamination of loneliness.
To find content within
is to lament
the consciousness with a binding like cement
and intrigue oneself with a competent listener.
Jennifer A. Fulco is a magna cum laude graduate of the University of Hartford, Connecticut. She has co-edited literary magazines at the University of Connecticut and the University of Hartford. Her poetry has also been featured in The American Dissident and Transcendent Visions. Since 1986, Jennifer says she has exhibited symptoms of a bipolar disorder. She dedicates her poetry to her mother, Jane, who allowed Jennifer to concentrate on her studies and artwork. Jennifer lives in upstate New York with her sister and their two cats.