"Conversation With A Madman"

Wrote this to try out a wordplay based poem.

“Sometimes I get confused and need answers.”
Johnny says.
“Sometimes I stand up here looking like someone trying to heal.
Like most of you I see tonight.
So I went to talk to someone they call crazy.
You ALL know him.
On most days he’s God,
you grandfather,
psycho,
psychiatrist,
the Wizard of Oz,
and a bottle full of pills.
Look man,
I get lost in this writing.
Swallowed by the breaks,
it gets dark.”
    “Look kid, I know it gets hard.
     But here’s some advice.
     Mimes make mad hatters mash bashful retorts in attempts to resort to a time when their
     hands didn’t speak with synical subliminals.
     Because all clowns become crusty like must we seperate the yokes and egg whites

right.”

“But that doesn’t make sense to me!”
Johnny says.
Check it,
he opened a book and let his fingers linger light on pages that jumped...
Like deep breaths...
In a dog fight...
Underwater...
He says

“My story goes...

People compliment me on the bruises on my neck from the times I loved too hard but

sometimes hard love is too hard to love,

so I wash the stains off hoping people will stop thinking that I succeeded at planting

seeds successfully.

And on the days that the sun looks like my mothers eyes,

and I feel constricted by time,

I beat the bad days with bloody knuckles just to try and get a funny chuckle haha laugh

poem out of somebody who’s situation is harry like the day Hucklebarry Hound got

thrown in the pound,

because I don’t know where the bars stop and the clocks start,

so start the clock so I can stop remembering the time when my stopped heart stopped.

And see,

I took walking this walk one step further.

My socks taught thought how to teach the tater tots to seek what’s sought.

Not the lies.

Not the pain.

Not the volience.

Like how our fists swallow jaw bones.

Like when numb nuts with numb skulls try to put button bullets in their temple bones.

See, my thoughts rot robot bolts.

So I create these tongue ties for poets who tie tongues like mouths were shops shop

owners who run quick stop poetry spots.

I call it making the best of the beast.

And sometimes I can’t breath.

But I do it so this love won’t leave the levees that my ribs lent me.

Let me.

Let me teach you how to capture your insanity in sanity cake lined with pill bottle ticket

booth rocket stand roofs.

Get ready for the carnival ride called poetry.

Some people might call you crazy when the coasters blow closer.

Some might even go as far as to say you do not make sense.

But they,

mother fuckers,

they,

I swear it to you,

are not listening...

Hard enough.

Reviews

[Aleyah]

this is really interestingly written, I like how it's kind of a story but poetic at the same time :D in addition, it's uber intense and really captured my attention because it's so dramatic but subtle, and really cutting. nice piece :)