The Price For Wisdom
Sickness breeds in my mind,
They say.
The kind of conniving tick
That spreads and spreads,
Like butter into the pores of my bread,
Till all is consumed,
Is swirling down the pipes,
Of those fibrous roots.
Till I am divine,
And see what others fail to see,
Hear what others fail to hear.
They'll slap a label on me for it-
Call me crazy.
That's the price one has to pay,
To achieve this kind of wisdom,
This flood of truth,
This dam of the brain
Broken into a million pieces
Of rubble and unintelligible splendor.
Lurching me into freedom,
And far away, so far away,
From the truly sick,
The truly demented vultures,
Who swoop and pick
At the remains of my innards,
In hopes of satisfying
Their selfish hunger-
Their selfish need
To fix.
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