Sometimes I wonder if I’m the only sane one left

in a mad, mad world

if inadvertently, I’ve fallen down some great big rabbit hole

to alternative reality

where truth’s a big fat water bomb, overfilled

that we sling back and forth like a pig’s bladder

sloshing round as we wait for the splat

except that it doesn’t splat

transforms instead to the leering face

of a cheshire cat

sat

not on a mat

but a high horse

out of play and tactically removed.

 

They’re painting the roses red today

tomorrow they’ll be blue

easier to cut off their heads, I say

and start from seeds anew

for this smearing of colour is all too neat

and I like my roses fresh and wild

or they’re not roses at all

just some acrid backdrop

to another sorry scene.

 

So if I’m the only sane one in a mad, mad world

maybe I'm the lunatic...

Mirror, mirror on the wall

who is the craziest of them all?

I think

I reflect

therefore I am

at peace with my own mentality -

so I’ll don Quixote’s armour

I'll mount his steed

and I'll fight the good fight

till those windmills rue the day

they ever crossed me…