and there, carved into the oaken doors
of the Madhouse, in stark, lifelike detail,
three massive cyclones. side by side. 
They seemed to sway and beckon
as the door began to creak open.
"We'll be there soon," the Cyclones harshly whispered to me.
"We'll be along shortly, and then we'll rip apart and send you whirling along with 
everything you love. Send you whirling to the void, where everything wails and moans,
and nothing will ever rest in peace again"*

 Madhouse

Time for the rain to shine,
ways for the moon to rhyme,
space for the gods to pine,
running through a madhouse with no way to stop.
 
Cane for the *** to chew,
slow when his eyes hit you,
rope when the hands push through,
skidding on wet floors on the way to the drop.

Slip to a diiff'rent side,
high on the wind to ride,
hope that the tree will hide,
stumbling up stairwells to get to the top.

Run as the jaws will snap,
swing when the wings won't flap,
streak when the soles do slap
Twilight is closing on the whirlwind's last crop.

it's not the large things that send a man to the madhouse

a woman, a
tire that's flat, a
disease, a
desire: fears in front of you,
fears that hold so still
you can study them
like pieces on a
chessboard...

it's not the large things that
send a man to the
madhouse. death he's ready for, or
******, ******, robbery, fire, flood...
no, it's the continuing series of small tragedies
that send a man to the
madhouse...

not the death of his love
but a shoelace that snaps
with no time left ...

The dread of life
is that swarm of trivialities
that can **** quicker than cancer
and which are always there -
license plates or taxes
or expired driver's license,
or hiring or firing,
doing it or having it done to you, or
roaches or flies or a
broken hook on a
screen, or out of gas
or too much gas,
the sink's stopped-up, the landlord's drunk,
the president doesn't care and the governor's
crazy.

light switch broken, mattress like a
porcupine;
$105 for a tune-up, carburetor and fuel pump at
sears roebuck;
and the phone bill's up and the, market's
down
and the toilet chain is
broken,
and the light has burned out -
the hall light, the front light, the back light,
the inner light; it's
darker than hell
and twice as
expensive.

then there's always ***** and ingrown toenails
and people who insist they're
your friends;
there's always that and worse;
leaky faucet, Christ and Christmas;
blue salami, 9 day rains,
50 cent avocados
and purple
liverwurst.

or making it
as a waitress at norm's on the split shift,
or as an emptier of
bedpans,
or as a car wash or a busboy
or a stealer of old lady's purses
leaving them screaming on the sidewalks
with broken arms at the age of 80.

suddenly
2 red lights in your rear view mirror
and blood in your
underwear;
toothache, and $979 for a bridge
$300 for a gold
tooth,
and China and Russia and America, and
long hair and short hair and no
hair, and beards and no
faces, and plenty of zigzag but no
***, except maybe one to **** in
and the other one around your
gut.

with each broken shoelace
out of one hundred broken shoelaces,
one man, one woman, one
thing
enters a
madhouse.

so be careful
when you
bend over.

Mad mad mad

She's mad in her head
Crazed in her mind
Oh brilliant starlight
How you glisten

Like her Cheshire Cat smile

Oh she's mad dear
She's mad


She's living in a madhouse
Wind her up
And you'll have a ******
on your hands

Mad girl
Run run run

Nostalgic for the past

Madhouse madhouse
Run run run*

She's a loon
She's mad
Balistic

She's an enigma just for you
Living in this madhouse

1
Though still within our infancy,
we strive to thrive, but woefully
we flash and flaunt our 'primacy',
display our trophies pridefully.

Our terra firma ecstasy
destroys survival's harmony,
lays waste to life on land and sea.
Mankind, thy name is vanity!

By doubting Nature's regnancy,
defying laws with levity,
we strain our spheroid's symmetry
(perhaps a fatal fallacy?)

for, swallowed in the 'world of we',
we feed on vain insanity
with thoughts beyond eternity -
so strange when looked at mortally.

No use to seek a remedy
ensconced in ancient prophecy
for if not handled skillfully,
as clay we'll pay the penalty.

                              2
The Moguls rule with cruel decree,
control the crowds like puppetry,
pursuing greed addictively
with no accountability.

The wind, it reeks of Royalty
(awash in waves of perfidy)
while blowing ’cross the peasantry
(eclipsed in clouds of treachery).

The Queen, well steeped in snobbery,
sits, preening proud Her pedigree,
on throne of sculpted ebony
while sipping Sect immodestly;

to sate Her Regal Majesty,
a caviar clad canapé
is served with golden cutlery
by maidens bent submissively.

The King is bailed from bankruptcy
by Knaves who hoodwink artfully
the down-and-outer evictee
who wallows in their lenity.

Forsooth, the Money Monarchy
exalts the dollar dynasty
engaged in highway robbery
by Peacocks plumed in finery.

Yes, Jesters and the Fools agree
to truckle to duplicity
and laugh about it witlessly.
Long live the peon's penury!

                          3
To champion an oddity
(like two times twelve is fifty three)  
one reaches to theology
through paths of circularity.

In bygone trials of travesty
the doubters, draped in blasphemy,
endured the pain and agony
inflicted by the papacy.

Inspired by the Trinity
fanatics bent cosmology
in geocentric fantasy
while Bruno burned for heresy;

and aged women, randomly
accused of wicked witchery
by justice framed in infamy,
were racked and shown no clemency

That epoch of credulity
(when savants fostered sorcery
and practiced ancient alchemy)
arose in dark age quackery

as clerics dripping piety
(while raging, raving rabidly)
pervaded thralled society
with callous inhumanity;

'repent', they bellowed, 'verily,
forsake the world's iniquity,
live lives of want and chastity,
and give your gelt to God through me'.

                    4
The Masters make a mockery
of freedom and democracy
by holding down the uppity,
released from shackled slavery,

now fettered in a factory
else strewn across the Bowery,
still chained in bonds of bigotry,
immersed in seas of poverty.

And colliers, tapping balefully
in sunken-mine solemnity,
yet thrum a mournful monody
some call the digger's elegy.

To children, pale and raggedy
(behind a day of drudgery),
the boss man, oh so gallantly,
bestows a penny, niggardly;

though some are fed (belatedly),
their eyes recede in apathy
while bellies bulge, inflatedly,
with mothers watching, wretchedly.

When met with health adversity
or broken bone infirmity,
the pauper dangles helplessly
with no insurance policy;

and those engulfed in lunacy
are ailing blobs left floating free
in ******-dream obscurity -
a mired madhouse odyssey.

Ignoring mankind's unity,
the rich and poor dichotomy
breeds dismal doomed finality,
eventual nihility.

                        5
Renewing days of chivalry,
wild warriors fighting valiantly
bring freedom neath the gallows tree
while blending blood and burgundy

to toast the slaughtered enemy,
and so convince the colony
to cede with smile on bended knee
and yield her diamonds, silk and tea.

At first they call the cavalry
and then again the infantry,
so proudly primped in panoply,
with arms from finest armory

(embraced in hands so tenderly
bestow benign atrocity) -
and soon atomic weaponry
will extirpate posterity.

                          6
Misusing high technology
(to feed the face of gluttony)
depletes our Rock of energy,
now slowly dying thermally.

Our gadgets breathing CFC
fuel ozone holes' immensity
while cloud bursts, raining acidly,
wilt woods in their entirety,

and rivers, tainted chemically,
polluted biologically,
refill our cups methodically
and drown our souls organically.

Adjusting genes mechanically
may well blot out the bumble bee
annulling fruits' fecundity,
but brings big bucks reliably.

We wager perpetuity
to revel momentarily
in shadow-like obscurity
ignoring the futility,

but if we bet unknowingly
on fickle fate's contingency
and thereby act haphazardly
we're doomed to lose the lottery.

                 7
The modern day bureaucracy
abuses trust egregiously ,
embeds itself in obloquy
and offers no apology.

It paints the past in reverie
to camouflage the tendency
to strip away our privacy
which paves the path to tyranny.

With earlobes lurking furtively
that listen surreptitiously,
and eyeballs peering piercingly
we've lost cerebral sovereignty,

and those who dare to disagree
must hide away in secrecy
else crowd a black facility
(with water board anxiety).

                  8
Yes, sans responsibility,
our marble in this galaxy
will crumble in catastrophe
ere ever reaching puberty…

Say shrieked the.
Blind pierce I'm.
Taxicabs the.
1930s men the underwear.
Cities smoking putting all;
Entered street o hollow-eyed.
Contemplating briefly with who the cool boatload;
Ashcans moloch! wound lapse.
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Body of;
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And blond island of with.
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Cross at hydrogen!;
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Or *****;
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Fire yard backyards.
Heads and.
In boxcars but waving.
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Bedsheets gymnasiums light but in away.
The golden dreams and and of the lamma.
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Of heaven ship mercy belt atlantic.
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Which tene- illuminates rockland out down drugs.
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The lonesome is up;
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Shoes where.
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In moloch!.
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Rockland rockland lonesome sweats.
Ned off in;
The evenings.
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Of and tionless in barns.
With loned I'm other and electricity railroad in;
Images naked off.
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They and into for.
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Her and.
Money catatonic.
Suburbs! in on;
And themselves doctors pacific bit de- and rockland;
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Dragged the;
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Tender lounged.
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Winter trying rhythm in lobotomy green;
Cities! & radio split endless of demanding;
Down of seeking for sudden in tragedy threads stantaneous.
Suffering you.
Are to.
Rockland a;
& and;
The the.
I'm their of madtowns rejected.
Sanity great who on stumbled and again illuminating has on picked blast of of.
Streets floor expelled void;
The who storefront the head floor.
Boys one.
The jumped seraphim;
Steam with;
Newark's down writers alley came.
Pederasty mol

time is an hourglass
glued to the table,
and the world outside
has gone quite mad,
my dear.

rats in the gutters
and a soundtrack of
nine millimeters
resounding through
the air; and didn't i tell you
life was beautiful?

the shooting stars now,
they look a lot like bombs
as they make their way
to the shrieking silence
of dry land.

the golden babies laugh
their golden laugh
as a million more are lost
or left for dead in the
alleys of my mind
and didn't I tell you
this would all be so very
lovely?

don't fret now, baby,
the skies will soon catch fire
and the madhouse
will bloom
and thrive.

It's the little things that
drives one mad,
a snapped shoelace,
on your way to the
liquor store in the
driving snow.
A cockroach in
the cereal,
dead batteries, when all you
want to do is listen
to music.
Shifty eyed people in
my house, quietly plotting
my demise.
It's the tree of
life, cut down to clear
space for a parking lot.
No love from my brother.
Another frosty day in April.
Cigarette prices constantly
rising astronomically.
Footsteps in an empty
hallway.
It's Just a hop, skip, and
a jump to the madhouse.

You, Doctor Martin, walk
from breakfast to madness. Late August,
I speed through the antiseptic tunnel
where the moving dead still talk
of pushing their bones against the ******
of cure. And I am queen of this summer hotel
or the laughing bee on a stalk

of death. We stand in broken
lines and wait while they unlock
the doors and count us at the frozen gates
of dinner. The shibboleth is spoken
and we move to gravy in our smock
of smiles. We chew in rows, our plates
scratch and whine like chalk

in school. There are no knives
for cutting your throat. I make
moccasins all morning. At first my hands
kept empty, unraveled for the lives
they used to work. Now I learn to take
them back, each angry finger that demands
I mend what another will break

tomorrow. Of course, I love you;
you lean above the plastic sky,
god of our block, prince of all the foxes.
The breaking crowns are new
that Jack wore.
Your third eye
moves among us and lights the separate boxes
where we sleep or cry.

What large children we are
here. All over I grow most tall
in the best ward. Your business is people,
you call at the madhouse, an oracular
eye in our nest. Out in the hall
the intercom pages you. You twist in the pull
of the foxy children who fall

like floods of life in frost.
And we are magic talking to itself,
noisy and alone. I am queen of all my sins
forgotten. Am I still lost?
Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself,
counting this row and that row of moccasins
waiting on the silent shelf.

A stranger has come
To share my room in the house not right in the head,
                    A girl mad as birds

Bolting the night of the door with her arm her plume.
                    Strait in the mazed bed
She deludes the heaven-proof house with entering clouds

Yet she deludes with walking the nightmarish room,
                    At large as the dead,
Or rides the imagined oceans of the male wards.

                    She has come possessed
Who admits the delusive light through the bouncing wall,
                    Possessed by the skies

She sleeps in the narrow trough yet she walks the dust
                    Yet raves at her will
On the madhouse boards worn thin by my walking tears.

And taken by light in her arms at long and dear last
                    I may without fail
Suffer the first vision that set fire to the stars.

Look who just escaped the madhouse
Back out on the street
On the late night creep
Yeah, baby, I'm a freak
On the midnight sneak
Some say that I'm a fiend
But I'm just me
No one can hold me down
When I'm strutting my stuff
Got a style of my own
The king, the air to my thrown
Your in my kingdom now kids
That's just the way it is
Think I'm gonna get a lot of hate for this one (****!)

Still chasing girls way out of my league
(Girls way out of your league?)
Yep but that's just me
And I'm not stopping for no one
Showing no emotion what so ever so
No one can shut me down
Now that I'm walking my line
Back in my groove,
That's just the way that I move

Look who's live from the loony bin
I think that I'm a rock star
I'm acting like that
Is he a mental case
Tick, check yes
I'm back on my grind
Ain't no straightjacket tight enough
To contain me
My vocals still aren't straining
From all of my screaming
****** I'm a dog off its chain
Nuts in my mind
Out of my brain
Yeah you mother sucker
I'm insane (what?)

You think you got me locked
behind these bars?
Hand me a megaphone,
I got something to say
You know nobody else rocks
These chains like me
I'm a fashion model baby
Better believe it
Can't you see I've got it in my head
That I am a superstar
Rocking every single bar
Baby, I'm a monster
A thief in the night
Cuz I just stole your heart
In the backseat of my car
(Wait, what?)

Still chasing girls way out of my league
(Girls way out of your league?)
Yep but that's just me
And I'm not stopping for no one
Showing no emotion what so ever so
No one can shut me down
Now that I'm walking my line
Back in my groove,
That's just the way that I move

Look who's live from the loony bin
I think that I'm a rock star
I'm acting like that
Is he a mental case
Tick, check yes
I'm back on my grind
Ain't no straightjacket tight enough
To contain me
My vocals still aren't straining
From all of my screaming
****** I'm a dog off its chain
Nuts in my mind
Out of my brain
Yeah you mother sucker
I'm insane (what?)

Oh look I'm rock royalty (believe it)
Believe me, rub your eyes
Can't believe what you are seeing
Get on your hands and knees
**** right, you gotta bow down to me
Oh I'm bound to start a war
Lucky I came prepared for what's in store
It's a shake up showdown
Planets will rearrange
Then they will realign
you got it, right baby
cuz this is my time
I know you wanted more
I'm prepared for gossip galore
Cuz I'm an attention seeking *****

Still chasing girls way out of my league
(Girls way out of your league?)
Yep but that's just me
And I'm not stopping for no one
Showing no emotion what so ever so
No one can shut me down
Now that I'm walking my line
Back in my groove,
That's just the way that I move

Look who's live from the loony bin
I think that I'm a rock star
I'm acting like that
Is he a mental case
Tick, check yes
I'm back on my grind
Ain't no straightjacket tight enough
To contain me
My vocals still aren't straining
From all of my screaming
****** I'm a dog off its chain
Nuts in my mind
Out of my brain
Yeah you mother sucker
I'm insane (what?)

©2017 Written By Benji James