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Poem

We are all of us crazy…
Mad in passions like a mystic forest 
Where flowers swat away at bees
And trees refuse to grow past crippled bushes
With fields of roses painting themselves black
And streams beaching misplaced whales
All the while fish seek to prance along deer,
All mad, in this mystic forest, 
Where fish can breathe aground 
And a rose need not fumble with a brush
In a forest now harmonious in discourse

And so we are all of us crazy

From those of us in a sordid love affair with gravity
Plummeting fatal depths on bungee cords

To those of us who live life like mutes
	Afraid to share
Yet spill their hearts on paper, privy to the world

While others they laugh at tragedy,
And see black where there is white

And all of us are afraid of words
Handled swords, that we chose to grasp by the point

And are we crazy to act out of place
In a forest that thrives on ill-fitting puzzles
Is it sane for the fish that has lungs to live beneath the waves?

Is it crazy to be yourself
And not an imposter?

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