What does crazy feel like? Like this? Like wanting to escape your skin, your brain, your reality...or like not knowing what your reality is? Like hiding under whatever is closest: a book, a blanket, a smile, a lover, an apron, to take you to a better place. Like hearing many voices that all sound like your own, but you're never sure if they are...or if you even have your own voice. Like seeing life from a distance, scene after scene, because being there in person is too dangerous. Like knowing you have every chance, every reason to be un-crazy, to be happy...and still remaining inexplicably sad (except in tiny, glimmering bursts).
Ashes, Ashes
Cloves snap, crackle, pop
Between my lips
Breezes awaken
A garland of prayer flags
Ashes, ashes fall down
And prayers float heavenward
In the afternoon.
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