an ode to insanity

like a feast of salty broken glass
the sweet scratches of a mask
a vivid splash of nothingness
a nameplate with lost address

he stands there gibbering to himself
a mighty soothsayer afraid to tell
some bitter truth too big to share
a solemn cross he alone must bear

the blurring of edges, the clarity of space
an angel falling headlong from grace
a race of slow throbbing death
like hurried gasps of bated breath

they pass him by without a glance
this freak of some divine mischance
vacant eyes, twisted face
a canvas too ugly to be erased

yesterday, today, everyday
less black, less white, much more grey
caught in time or freed from it
savoured by streams of dripping spit

he sees what they do not dream
and dreams what they must not see
a vision horrific, or is it pretty
paradise lost or guarded closely

alone, not lonely in the world
like a valiant flag in the storm unfurled
seeing, smiling yet blind to it all
poetic, esoteric, immovable wall

he cares not what they make of him
like a fish drenched in rainy swim
they effect him not, they affect him not
sadly happy private thoughts

scorned like fruit, long gone bad
this aimless anchorless nomad
hard to accept, but what’s harder to know
who’s better off between us both.

ram cobain