I feel my madness as a joy today
Thoughts born to bounce and multiply
Like ripples in a barrel or a brain pan
Patterning into poetry like a murmuration
Like an exegesis from the random static.
My words are starlings fetched to fly
From out the cave well of my mind
As the guiding hand makes shadows
On the white page of the sky
And I glory in it... That I can write!
That I make these black shapes swarm
In an animated passion foaming laughter
Into and throughout the silence
To become a screeching poetic oneness
Raised up in an exultation of chatter.
That I can craft and forge an art of words
From inner fires and constituent parts
Not known before I put them in the world
Not voiced before I sang them to be heard
My songs, my poetry, my colour chart.
— The End —