How would I know if I was having a breakdown down or
a crackup up, or an episode (to be polite)
Is the world weird weary and wiggly swigged out?
Can't be. Must be me… an artist… as erratic
as this punctuation
Oh art! A famous excuse for madness loosely dangling.
A bit off, a bit eccentric… anachronistic bohemian
beat and beatific
Art poem, not greeting card, belies the alienation
prerequisite of beauty—that notorious joy forever—
just a bit outside always, always
always bipolar ups downs, romancing depression
Always an observer absorber feeling into my skin and then
standing apart peeling to subdermal layers with the
precision of pre-med biology lab
Ah ha! Reveal some truth
to be sculpted with an editorial scalpel (run-on sentence
be damned, grammar police be gone).
Sounds real real (real?) crazy to me—the blood of it
the dissatisfaction of just being—just being
a pen that is never ink-full satisfied with
the words or the music that no one else (those just be-ites)
even thinks about
And, don't these nervous breakdown (the one's courted by
shrinks or exiled to bricked places by courts) those
sensitive unsane people hear voices, see words
dance, twist their meaning,
squeeze them into too tight spaces where they
can't fit and don't ever seem to belong
to themselves? others?
And, don't the crazies lose perspective on social
morays? Aberrant sex and adultery for
redemption and purity. Extensions of childhood.
gloriosky luminous adolescence. It's the normal natural
not even worth an eye blink.
My brain is wired different.
The things that alarm me, everyone else takes for granted.
The things everyone else takes for granted, alarm me.
That's my norm; Right on my bell curve bell jar.
The analysis of logic-defying deft geometrics:
You long to get outside your box.
My box is so far outside your box that
you don't really want me to get outside those nine dots
even though you say you do.
You look my way and think hysterics, histrionics,
diva gestures when I think romance or principle.
I would believe I was crazy if I took Jesus as my savior
or if I took a pill to confirm and lithium level out.
I would rather howl at the horse-faced stars because I
peeled at the sycamore tree than take prozac to be
someone else's sexless
well.
Beyond this voice in my head, I would not know maturity.
I would worry.
Get me lit on another cigarette and a diet of fizzy caffeine.
Get me quiet smoking dope without giggles.
Get me sleepy on speed.
But, before we give me that label—k-k-k-katy
I mean before you call me k-k-k-krazy
how about we review that vein
I ate for lunch today.