Born crazy, is that better than becoming deranged? Do birth affects excuse my unrepentant glee? Does irrepressible sardonic wit explain the order of restless exposition? Can you count on Cicadic enthusiasm to carry me, or flightless fancy to keep me down? I am beyond redemption, beyond reception, beyond device. I arrived riddled with chaotic cracks, but I am more than just a glaze and deep down I’m more than sound, so walk with my wild side and your thoughts I’ll rearrange.
When you can’t fill the void, wallpaper
BEFORE THE END OF THE ROAD
Before the end of the road tiny stone lay on the side
Freshly painted lines glimmer in this twilight trance.
Walking the macadam, the crunch underfoot
Changes my perspective.
No steering wheel or accelerator
This is ankle express all the way.
Walking the road , step by step, on my own
I am part of the soft and growing world.
Progressing on a plan of separate integrity
Moist, lush wonder, is missed
By the motor speedway I let rule my life
Honeyed sweetness covers the vegetation
Swaying in the undulating air born pulse.
I am tempted to lie down and have a roll
But my role tonight is to reach the end of the road.
When my goal is achieved I may choose
A woodland life or an urban endeavor.
Seeing the end of this path is job enough for now.
Decisions anticipated prior to arrival
Are foolish diversions.
I need to stay, not stray with the dancers in the wind.
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault