The Madness Of

Madness…..the thing that reaches out and up and through

Blights the mind through the eyes and ears

Wrenching at the orbs washed in the darkness of deep

Introspections that went on too long.


You have propped open the gates of self-learning

So they can never close….                               ….self has no meaning now

Madness flows in and is welcomed and temperance

Of that flow is decried; with zealot fervor and narrow inquisitor glare.


Both rope-bound riddle and threadbare philosophy

Clamor in little, dying breaths that they can be solved

Through recursive mapping of impracticable ideals

Which never have suffered reality’s invections.


If the world is truly held on the broad shoulders

Of a titan, then you are the red high heel, the hemp sandal

The pristine boot of justice, stamping on his neck—

So sure, so righteous; until he drops it.


Hold fast now, as it rolls out the door….                       .… into the black;

One more orb extinguished.

Inside the Covers

Remember the old library check out cards

Inserted into their cardboard sleeves

Pasted to the inside covers

Of thick hard-bounds and dingy paper-backs alike?


The librarian’s stamp was a symbol of pride,

Ennobling each pale blue index card.

The page-turner mysteries bore many

As did the well-worn copies of literary classics


Speaking to the reader about the wisdom of their decision,

Testifying to the many satisfied patrons who came before.

“See you have made a fine choice!

All your friends will approve!”


Other books had only a few, infrequent due dates

“April 12th

“Nov 17th

Scattered memories of being needed.


Small chips and digital scanners

Have replaced the librarian’s ink and stamp

Those precious cards, each book’s own private journal

Are yet another casualty of progress.


Regardless, each book still sits

Tightly wedged between its kin

Waiting, yearning, motives unchanged

Spine creaking and pages crying dustily:

“Pick me! Oh please pick me!”