'Mad Community', or, A Small Bird Willows On
The Branch
Soberly checking his dentistry
for miniature radio transistors,
Dreaming of wild sex, with his royal daimon sisters,
Taking a bite from the moon each night,
To dutifully ensure its sacred cycles
Turn as beautifully as the wheels
Of penny-farthing bicycles.
Our maligned malingering neurotic,
Certainly has a taste for the exotic.
Objectifying, labelling, separating men
And women in to little boxes with surgical precision,
Taking his medicating nails to the rickety fence
Of their brains, and hammering them one by one, in.
The good Dr. prowls from ward to ward,
Butterflying from one hospital to the next on
His highly esteemed, highly important business.
A clash of cultures, I suspect..
Will the esteemed Dr. stop for a moment to reflect?
On the misery of his charges -
Their private world of enchantments -
Nay, nay, he rides over it rampant,
Feeling fortunate he is not among them,
Reviled by his peers for the company he keeps!
A small bird willows on the branch,
Its chicks destroyed by avalanche.
One man's gaze locked within,
Imprisoned by his inner divining mirror,
The other, consumed in the reflection he makes
On the bank statements and collegiates,
Exiled from source of spirit,
And, both equally so, from the ever-healing wellspring
Of true human community.