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A Sack of Smile
by Janos Marno

Deadly comfort, where you live, since you
found your mind. To talk about it
bores you. You stare at the yellow floor,
Your mother cannot drive you nuts anymore.
It isn't that you would sink into a distant
oblivion, like Laura, or that you would be
so full of yourself that your throat could whistle,
Although that might be true. A second ago
you sat up in the bed, like a sack that limps and
is tied by its mouth. Whimpering and, of course,
making a loud fuss about it. But hoping 
it will not be trapped 
in a single simile. 
And leaping.