Joy

Some people call me crazy:

I'm not a stony-faced misery.

Just because I'm happy.

I tried joy on for size;

it fit too big. I thought,

Why not wear it?

It's because I feel the music.

I know my blood is ephemeral.

So I start a riot

in the middle of a funeral.

When I laugh

my lips don't just move.

And when I dance

I am the groove.

I'm climbing up the walls,

but I'm tethered by a rope:

hope. Only hope.

That meagrest of threads

tied on to a life. Like a wedding band,

knotted to a wife.

Some people call me crazy,

but can you blame me? I see;

O! I see! Up here it's not hazy.