Saturday, December 4, 2010

Crazy


Crazy

I find crazy in the damnedest places,
in my yogurt, as a lump
in the middle of my quilt,
in the left sleeve of my ribbon shirt,
in Bledsoe’s breakfast,
borrowed from Bing,
copied from Yahoo,
behind my hiking boots,
on the shelf right between
NIGHT AT THE OPERA and
A DAY AT THE RACES,
while reading William Burroughs,
or Hunter S. Thompson, or Phillip K. Dick,
in the cat box, in Taffy’s dog house
three years after she left us weeping,
holding her while she received the
prick of death, in the dusty jewelry box
I inherited from my stepfather that never
has held any bling, in the plain brown
envelope that holds the last note
my mother wrote before
she went to the hospital,
and in every production shot
of every theatrical play
I boldly appeared in.

Glenn Buttkus

November 2010

Listed as #44 over on Magpie Tales 74 .  Submitted in July 2011.

Would you like to hear the Author read this poem to you?

6 comments:

Daryl Anderson said...

Damn fine, Slash.

Ann Grenier said...

Love your bravery..to follow suit with the prior commenter...not a damn thing to do with the diabolical mask. I like it!

rob kistner said...

...and in broad daylight
on every street in town.

liked this Glenn :)

Other Mary said...

So good Glen, touching. I got me a whole load of crazy here too - all over the place.

Tess Kincaid said...

I like your kind of crazy. Wonderful write, Glenn.

Brigid O'Connor said...

What a great piece of writing, I didnt know whether to laugh or cry, crazy does that to you!