Collective Madness

Collective Madness

Around the house the flakes fly faster,

And all the berries now are gone'

Birds At Winter, Thomas Harding

Overexposed driftwood

is what we are.

Bewitched by the light,

pretty little cento,

eclipse enchanted with rainbows.

Our childhood memories linger

like pastoral triolets rolling about meadows.

Luck has nothing to do with interpreting

the veils with which we choose to cover our faces.

Enlightenment happens after we fall.

Madness comes in the form of eyes

appended to blood dripping rocks

when our demons fail to cross the river.

Never is where we usually drink tea

and endlessly suck on lemons.

Smiles are inevitable

when we spar with strangers.