When you face life
you face death too
you realize the war of
instincts within
and you cherish nocturnal glee
you feel the pulse of madness
madness is no enemy of intelligence
or of conscience: madness
makes you perfect.
Look at Elizabeth Bishop
look at Sylvia Plaith,
or Eliot or Pound
or Poe or one of consequence
and you know what good poetry
is all about.
It are ruminations: threads
in deep thoughts
evolved there; during recapitulation
in mental asylum.