are you there?

[mealltach]

so i am writing a crazy poem, you say.
hahahaaa. crazy. folle. loca. whatever, i guess,
or at least hazard a guess.
this is a mess;
crazy in the least,
crazy at best.
head down, down, down,
then rest
silently upon a mass that is much bigger than you.
like a life swollen. merely particles of
unknown, swollen dirt,
stuck to the bottom of my shoe. i'm hungry,
AND SO I FEED A G A I N. the crazy few
words which fester on tongues and
always remain unsaid,
shall deter one from "the" righteous path,
like beauty in a breath. Domine Jesu,
save me. but do i ask the human creation
(one so beautiful that none can compare O precious
M. you were, and continue to be, beauty epitomized), or
am i asking for
divine intervention of some sort?
perhaps this is residue of prior insanities.
it doesn't matter, for i am always the same to them.
all of them. all. all. all.
bottom dwellers cannot reveal their secrets, but do
enthral some…and
those enthralled usually
ask
questions
step outside of themselves for a second or two, step out
into the hall,
and breathe.
so i am writing this poem,
which, perhaps, makes not a whit of sense to you.
because even when you are burned,
it changes nothing. existence is apart (from you);
apart from nothing.
apart from everything.