Mary McCarthy 

Inside the Asylum

there seems to be nothing
but an endless corridor
repeating the same few steps
over and over
each side doorway
opening only
on another dead end.
A lonely place
no matter how full
of the lost and forgotten
who pass wordlessly
and fade
into their own
infinite distance.
A barren place
where your eyes grow so tired
of seeing nothing
but the vanishing point
they long to close
on darkness
like communion.
 
Asylum-- so like a prison
yet less malicious
than the one you carry with you
persistent, unrelenting,
inescapable
holding you close
in its bone castle
no one can enter or breach
with anything like hope–
 
And yet those asylums, those
sanctuaries, so much like prisons,
their confinements clumsy and
ungenerous,
can still keep you
safe a while
from your worst intentions
until vigilance finds its limit
and you outwit all precautions
to cut your way out
past the vanishing
nightmare’s end.

https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/336327

Metropolitan Museum 1 -2-3-4-5-6

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