a case of practice

"You know what's depressing?" She said. 
"Depression." 

Asking another what they think, sparking 
deep things moving in them then cutting 
off the rise of heart to throat towards 
tongue, by answering yourself cheap
and pat before process can progress
in unwinding to undumb, is also
depressing, I didn't say. 

To snark so at someone who may be 
already depressed would be far more 
depressing, I'd guess. Having never

done. But having done quite as dumb
things in my time, I can reckon the mess. 

She went on. 

But not as she always did. This 
was different. Not one of our usual 
fake Catholic darkened confessional 
sessions, with me, some bandit stole 
in to hide in pilfered vestments, hearing 

her 

- the cosplay bride, supposedly fled 
from some faltering, altering altar
that rocked her mind to a realization

or two 

she had to spew 
into some well-trained on listening 
holy ear, with a wholly holey mind 
behind, growing holier by the minute
in virtuous triumph at rebuffing intrusive 
salacious and titillating thoughts, then 

absolving us both, in ritualized 
secular words. Say three Our Egos 
and three Our Selves, my child 

- and it all will go away. No. 

This seemed to mark a turn 
in our longstanding and frankly 
completely unexamined ('til now,
from my side) arrangement. Our 
respective roles in these moments 
I suppose had just naturally evolved, 
been taken as so. Suddenly artifice 
bloomed and loomed, to shove beautiful 
head into ugly rear! I'll forbear to describe 
as to whose was whose, just take my 

word for the impression, my dear. It was
not artifice, perhaps, and yet -

Now I had a pipe, and a whole beard 
attached to my glasses, in classic 
Groucho Marx disguise fashion, 
except this was either clearly Sigmund
Marx or Groucho Freud. Sigh and yikes

- and inner exultancy! FINALLY 

This was a part I could less "play," 

and more "pull off."  

Depression, it's true, so I gathered 
that day, but had already believed 
and known from prior testament 
and experience, is its own known 
and sufficient cause. But 

some other things can cue it too. 
Just not so thorough in hope and 
pleasure loss. See, if - the things 

that depress are ultimately not in 
us, but inflicted, imposed, we know 

we can change our aim, our grasp 
and expect to drop such loss and 

woe. Move on, towards such better
things we know beyond knowing, experience
really does bring. Since it has. But if the cause
is in us? Oh, shit.

It's a bit more far we must go, if ever again
to be glad. 

To see whether and even if we can find 
other things outside - or knowledge's wedge, 
or insight's lever to lift or shift or break
that dismal glow by its crack and edge. 

I hadn't much good to tell. To share, 
of insight or consequence.
It was okay 
still.

She just wanted to share what the 
load was like, in that moment just then. 
Just 'cause she knew she can and will. 
Just 'cause she knew me in confidence. 

Sometimes, it takes us some processing, 
some work of materials through to product, 
before we could ever in self-defense invite
one in 
to see
so much work we cannot add up, in any
or all calculation of purposes intense. 

Prior to that, we hold our own. 

And some of us die in the weight of it. 

I wish I could think a solution through, 
but all the world's problems will never fit.