who invented this so-called “sanity”?
a mythical beast that eludes me.
an overachievement i cannot attain.
a certificate of accomplishment touted by the disillusioned.
what if the real world is
faerie portals at the bases of giant oak trees.
hidden messages in floating clouds.
secret agendas that i can only know when i have
gone the distance and reached the rendezvous site
where a stranger in hoof and fur offers me guidance
a cup of hot coffee.
a turn of my head and a different world is revealed,
hiding until now in the
periphery of my limited sight.
can the sane do that?
can the sane find a ripple in the cosmos
and climb through the hole to
and bring back ideas,
colorful imaginings that will fill
thousands of faerie tale books
and paint themselves into the rooms
sanity is a disappointment. a mirage.
my own twisted mind
is my best heavenly oasis.