manic’s playground

a manic’s playground is            my mind

entrapped within a jungle gym of ludicrous joy

buried deep within the soiled sands of plunging sorrow

an unbalanced act atop the high top

the too quick and slick descent of my                sanity upon the slide

the cloying sweet-rancid smell of the tire swing

as i hold         tight

sickened-spinning-dizzy from deciphering what’s real              what’s not

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budding’s cry

journey to the innocence
of a budding’s tired cry
music to the ear
that softly forgets
what fate it has set forth

what death will take
because he has more heart
than that which moves to see
what pleasure more, stays now distracted

upon those who gaze
on all that is yet to be known
clouding what is known
and does not live
in our lives
if not named