some people never go crazy.
        me, sometimes I'll lie down behind the couch
        for 3 or 4 days.
        they'll find me there.
        it's Cherub, they'll say, and
        they pour wine down my throat
        rub my chest
        sprinkle me with oils.

        then, I'll rise with a roar,
        rant, rage -
        curse them and the universe
        as I send them scattering over the
        lawn.
        I'll feel much better,
        sit down to toast and eggs,
        hum a little tune,
        suddenly become as lovable as a
        pink
        overfed whale.

        some people never go crazy.
        what truly horrible lives
        they must lead.