no sane person sits alone
hours at a time
writing their innermost thoughts;
writers are by definition—
insane.
hell, we pay others
(the psychiatrists and therapists)
to listen to our innermost thoughts
and even they can't handle
more than an hour at a time.
but those that handle it
(by definition—insane)
those, we call readers.
while the common soul,
surrounded by their kind,
lives purely in experience—
processes, moves on, forgets.
(by definition—sane)
the writers and the readers,
both insane,
are the minority amongst the masses.
such insanity,
(beautiful, creative, artistic, unique)
of such rarity,
stands out more
precisely as it contrasts
with the sanity
of such commonality.
should the insanity
become the norm
then would the sanity
be praised
immortalized
sought
desired
should the machines liberate us
for the pursuits of all arts
then we could say
(in the most trivial of ways)
no sane person sits with others
hours at a time
enjoying the present moment
they would be by definition—
insane.