Sometimes I believe madness is wonderful.
To become lost in a narrow hall of ivy curves and circles.
To close your eyes and walk the steady miles in your mind.
The grasp of old faded rubber as the rollercoaster lifts, tosses, and twists.
Seeing the euphoric feelings of someone float into the air in colorful auras.
Normailty is not reality unless you believe it so.
You may only be dreaming.
Real life could be an enticing parallel dimension where you walk on your hands,
and speak with your feet.
Eyebrows made of sugar, noses made of stone,
hats that sing to rhythm, dresses that shrink and grow.
Why live as a normal person?
Strange, Odd, Weird, Mad, Crazy and I have more fun.

Verandas at supper time & plates without rain
cutlery placates the hands to the vein.
We watch our fingers as they feed upon air;
our bodies moulded into the normailty of chairs
nostalgic is the taste of ravenous affairs.
Our hands grow tired of non-essential shoots
As we remember that this ritual is just displacing air.
Now clawing the ceramic, reaching for instinctual roots
beyond our own edible malfunction of sought repute
growing trained eyes for gnathic refute.
Now beyond the slumber of western lands
knife and fork asunder; we eat with our hands
now beyond rituals of conservative man.