You cannot tell me otherwise.
I am convinced
that all poets are insane
and the best poetry
comes from the craziest brains.
Loose bolts,
dangling screws,
create openings
for metaphors to ooze through.
I am convinced
that all poets are insane,
telling stories
of animus fights and inner demons slain.
Personified nightmares
impatiently standing behind
curtains of imagery,
eager to dazzle the audience’s mind.
I am convinced
that all poets are insane
and the sane world
no longer their domain.
Company kept
by syllables and verses,
endless ink
and torn pages.
I am convinced
that all poets are insane,
for no one else
would dare say the same thing again and again.
