Monuments and the Arcane

There is a wall, an imaginary one, that skirts a boundary where beyond, a kind of madness waits, an hallucinatory place at the end of the mind. Inside the wall is where sense makes monuments of order, where precision prevails over chaos and life is lived in rows gated from the uncertanties that swirl just outside. What lies beyond is raw and fluoresces with a freedom torn from the absolute, calls into existence a poem, the visions of a prophet, nonsense, and the arcane chatter left over after the dissolution of whoever it was that lived there inside your head.