Three Poems

Schizo Facto; Milvian; Birdbrains

Schizo Facto

Schizophrenia, the word, exists,
To be measured in a petri dish,
By fictional future scientists,
Who are always yet to be.

Whose face enthralled poor Narcissus?
“None but his own!” they will insist.
That’s partly true, but with a twist,
Which Echoes in eternity.

Tiresias, the blinded troon,
With Nemesis, the demoness,
Conspired on a Hunter’s Moon,
To engineer a prophecy.

And Legion in the Gerascene,
When asked its name, under duress,
Spat pronouns schizophrenically:
“I’m We, Ourselves, and Us.”