Villanelle: Things I Love; Mood Improves (shh!)

The Things I Love

The things I love define me, more or less.
I love the Simpsons and pistachios.
I love to watch my one true love undress.

Her living sculpture summons my caress.
I love her curve of hip, her Irish nose.
The things I love define me, more or less.

I love basketball, wine to excess.
I love the violet hour at day’s close.
I love to watch my one true love undress.

I love my daughters, proud of their success.
I love my grandson in his dirty clothes.
The things I love define me, more or less.

And I love poetry, though I confess
I find much of it nowadays otiose.
I love to watch my one true love undress.

Under melancholy’s fierce duress
I grip these things more tightly than a noose.
The things I love define me, more or less.
I love to watch my one true love undress.


I don’t know if today’s poem qualifies as poetry, as it is deficient in tropes, but even if only verse, it is authentic. And that’s what good poetry must have; not truth per se but authenticity. The reader must feel convinced of the poet’s experience, or narrative, in his very bones. Otherwise it’s just another bad television show.

As you might deduce from today’s subject, my mood is improving since my antipsychotic was doubled three nights ago. Antipsychotics help re-set the brain, much like ECT. They put the brain at rest. They help my focus when I’m ill, so that I can attend to one thing without the overwhelming anxiety of everything else.

The depressive often feels responsible for everyone and everything, feeling guilty that he can’t set it all right. This is a Christ-like narcissism, as this presumes one should be good enough to take on everyone else’s sin. It’s part of the illness. Then there is the irony that most depressives, while depressed, can do very little, nevertheless have crushing expectations of doing more than is humanly possible. This is why acceptance of one’s depression is paramount in enduring the illness, because depression is like a tar baby—-the more you fight against it, the deeper you’re sucked in.

I have an appointment with a new psychiatrist today. I hope he’s more knowledgeable than my last.


At 2 kilorats and rising (shh!),

Craig Erick