It’s All Good

There is a subtle elegance

in having brain

able to find caves in parking lots,

can till time by shoe size

and read a book from last page first.

 

I keep my thoughts in a tube of pastry,

worry if dryer lint hides mind cooties,

go on trips every day

where truth is a kitten

who masquerades as Attila the Hun.

 

None of this is other than creativity

from a mine stuck in the muse’s underwear,

it all is façade of dementia

to hide my quirky anal retentive, passive/aggressive,

compulsive driven neurosis,

having no patience,

turns my computer desk into a temple

with crumbs from snacks,

cyber passion is a religion,

cleanliness on the list never looked at.

 

My mind can get stuck on replay,

repeating the same thought till it strangles,

then find a candle to shine a light

somewhere you’ve never seen.

 

Ready to take out the trash before needed

so I can save time to do something trivial,

elevate mundane and routine to some sacred ritual,

organize my life so it never makes any sense,

stroll in the chaos that I think is logical

pick out the one idiosyncrasy of my subconscious,

performing it until you want to scream.

 

Yet, in this clamor whirlwind beats a heart with love,

easily share with loyalty and my own brand of humor

making curiosity and fascination signs before my face.

 

It will make the time encountered

an oddity that can become addictive

if for no other reason than wondering

can one person really be such a walking contradiction?