sometimes
i think i'm flying
and i ponder as i hover
over thought light as a feather
and ethereal as a mad man's dream
sometimes
i think i'm dying
because i think i'm alive
and without substance or essence
i float about free and frivolous
and make-believe that my preoccupations matter
sometimes
i think that if i cry a river like one in fever
i might find i have exorcised all the sorrow in me
and that a new regime of easy laughter comes in
sometimes ...
just sometimes