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Remember when we did as we pleased?
Now we’re wrinkled, gray, and diseased
With Rage that crushes any caring heart,
And drops us low to our knees—
There is no succor or understanding
For respite or for relief for any parents’ pleas.
Why do we think ourselves
Into such boxes of darkness
Into that snare of ever wrong turns?
To put down hard roots
Into a never loved land,
Grasping, with our heart that burns—
Another lost kite strung over a high tree,
Another lost thing we swore to safe keep—
Living a clueless life beyond what we hear or see;
As now I lay me down to sleep?

–Amberly Alexis Barnett’s body was found in an undisclosed location early Saturday morning hours after authorities began searching for the 11-year-old, who was last seen at her aunt’s house in Mt. Vernon, Ala.

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Only Twelve

I just cannot comprehend—
Lost between the difference and the subtrahend:
I stand blocked by the Police Tape,
My 12-year old angel is in cuffs
And I must be to blame.
A middling school in LA:
She shot one in the head and grazed the others,
But we were going to Krispy Kreme.
Now I can’t afford a lawyer,
Maybe the family can help,
No dreamers here
And my own dreams for her are all gone.
She is just only a girl, she’s 12?!
She took the gun to school—
Where can I go to rip out her pain?
What did I miss between Snapchat
And her friends on her iphone?
It’s all my fault still and again and again;
Thoughts of suicide,
Thoughts of murder.
Walls of Police Tape:
Who would want to cross
And dwell inside the real true horror?
Was I not listening?
What was it I could not see?
I love my kid,
Undeniably,
She’s only 12….

As of 8:30PM CST:
Breaking News – Story Developing
Los Angeles police say middle school shooting that critically wounded boy was accidental
Feb 01, 2018
Geez, I sure hope so! That it was deliberate is too awful to contemplate!

In The Mainstream

Got my love up ona stick
Ya’ll better come run quick
He falled down
Then he was dead
So there up ona stick
I put his oh soo lovely head

Off my meds
Off my time
Is dare womethingworong
That Im offa my head

Got my honey ona stick
Ya’ll beeter comerun quick
Wotcha pointing that gun at me
I thknk ima gonna be sick

Yeaqh im homeless
Least restrictiff workin for me
Wares the state loony bin
I think I needs\a bed, Doncha se

Got my love up ona stick
Ya’ll better come run quick
He falled down
Then he was dead
So there up ona stick
I put his oh soo lovely head

https://www.yahoo.com/news/woman-carrying-skull-stick-leads-130037239.html

Mainstreaming. THE policy that led to the release of most of the nation’s mentally ill patients from the hospital to the community is now widely regarded as a major failure. Sweeping critiques of the policy, notably the recent report of the American Psychiatric Association, have spread the blame everywhere, faulting politicians, civil libertarian lawyers and psychiatrists.

But who, specifically, played some of the more important roles in the formation of this ill-fated policy? What motivated these influential people and what lessons are to be learned?

A detailed picture has emerged from a series of interviews and a review of public records, research reports and institutional recommendations. The picture is one of cost-conscious policy makers, who were quick to buy optimistic projections that were, in some instances, buttressed by misinformation and by a willingness to suspend skepticism.

Many of the psychiatrists involved as practitioners and policy makers in the 1950’s and 1960’s said in the interviews that heavy responsibility lay on a sometimes neglected aspect of the problem: the overreliance on drugs to do the work of society.

A Simple Mind

In this place of tattered expectations,
The old novice at last did rise,
Hours before the dawn
When stars still ruled the skies.

Disdainful of mocking glances,
And all who’d dare criticize,
Piffle stooped to sit at table
To chance last night’s left over sprout pies.

When Master arrived after dawn,
The novices chanted their obeisance;
Twas aged beyond any reason
For such death defied any and all sense.

“You’ve nothing to fear at all!”
A grievous, now proved, lie oft told:
The young novice had been annihilated,
And Master’s now twice time too old.

But Piffle knew the dread secret
Of why PanWren had passed from life—
As he had chanted the dire incantation
His mind slipped to a memory of a wife.

Piffle swallowed hard at the held image
Of the foolish novice smoldering away,
Shattering the apprentice’s soft held thought
That today had been an ordinary day.

Escaping from his thoughts to the catacombs
The old novice took up his rusted quill pen:
“Treat not lightly with the Dark and the Dire
Or loved ones you won’t live to see again!”

The stars again claimed their kingdom,
Though sleep failed Piffle entirely—
The grounds grizzled raccoon high aloft,
Skittering a chant from the old Squire Tree:

“When thou doth play risk in life’s hocus pocus,
T’would much profit thee to never lose focus!”