Thursday, 27 March 2014


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.

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