I put my finger on the screen, the cursor on a verse,
I swear I feel a jolt, a bolt of camaraderie.
I don’t know what makes sense anymore, and frankly
I’m too old to care. I’ve come to terms with an entity
I call myself
and a mate I call the Rain, the Moon,
a Foggy Apparition, my favorite Smoky Wraith.

What I love about this is how you place a web of thoughts
so intricately around lines of modern memorabilia
and not mention once the art involved with insanity.
I think it has to do with the state of affairs that slink
around the mind–how they slowly tantalize,
then take hold and run amuck like
a great red fish with hook in jaw–the kiss, the catch.