I am not mad, though I fear at times that madness may not be
a permanent affliction -- instead, it wraps us in cellophane,
suffocates small appendages that drop off over time, fingers, toes,
eyeballs rolling wildly across the ground; unable to see

myself, I am still speaking to the room where I store up silence
and open my mouth with endless -- faith, a god madness,
the creator within has triumphed, made me functioned and whole --
what humility, to discover our essential self rolling in fields
of dung and hay.