Being Crazy

From their myriad euphemisms, I chose  crazy

Why should they put me away?

For I only seek to be free

And I say, why put away what seeks to be free?

Confined to a cage……

Surely cages cause distress

I would wonder to ask the cubicle workers

Corralled in their Cuboidal cubism

Furthering notions of the march forward

Then am I crazy, would I not be part of cubism?

Am I the norm for the minority?

For the milieu seeks sanitized spaces

A linear pointed unfettered line of thought

Geometrical certainties.

While I go to different places of asymmetry

Adopt different pitches and gaits

As I seek the shelter of the library from the mid day sun

I espouse Schopenhauer seated on wasted tub chairs

I am at the back of a bus

My atonal eruptions being

Disdainfully reproached for an assumed nihilism

Or on the dark cavernous sooty damp subway platform

Where I pace hunchbacked, mercilessly  trailing my thoughts along subway tiles

Aligning them to the confines of civilized cubism