The Great Mad Man

Sitting at a wooden uneven table looking into the eyes of the great mad man,

Talking beyond senses,

Belief in a coming realm,

Switches blink-blink between now and nothing quick like flickity-flicks between t.v. screens,

I believed his eyes that were

hung-on-stars-like-bird-ribs-that-resemble-cages-they are trapped in,

A soft blanket comfort shoots from them,

He saw it,

Something in-between a moment and epiphany-dream-wake,

Stirring Black and Opel,

Painting the haunted ghost,

A shadow to forget,

Oh, Yes,

It knew him,

It knew his magnet-heart-song,

It saw where evil lives,

Splintered between,


rivers, puddles, lakes, straits, raindrops, mildew, brow-sweat, bottle-can-perspiration, god's one and only tear,

Tiny and hanging on time windows traveling like directionless compasses, 




Art inside everything,


Underneath frozen Giants,

A polite bow for the dying sun,

Ahhh, yes,

Slow sleepless dream, 

How he colors night with his black permanent marker,

Shades in the moon,

Holding His Magnificent Lonely Glow in the Distance

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