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
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?
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…