A soul might say the Institute’s there for you getting better, but really it wanted your wallet open: unhinged—in the manner of certain reptiles their jaws. The Institute ate you, and you fed yourself to it. The Institute was the keeper that shoved the rat you were in the nose of the black rat snake, the snake being the Institute, coiled against a gray stone wall. But you’d volunteered, so it ate you and you fed it, and well everything gets muddled. The Institute’s spiel began with, “You learn about how cognitive behavioral therapy helps . . .” Counselors led meetings, and hospital commercials. One “enrolled.” We “admit.” I wanted home, wife and kids. The Institute says, “You cannot be good for anyone, if you’re not good for yourself.” Instructions on an airplane. Put your mask on first. Is there a “your” without others? A body drifts in black space. Somewhere, a black hole. Swallow me entire. You cannot see it, but the gray stones are breathing.