Even Madness Has its Story.
There is fiberglass in the corner.
Battens balanced on an old beam.
A wooden woman pirouettes.
dust settles over it all,
a strange sort of museum,
no pattern, no themes, items on display
in odd corners and contrasts,
too like your own life,
and yet, in time you begin to see
that even madness has its story to tell
and a logic that becomes comfortable:
not quite true,
but beautiful none the less.
About this poem
Somehow this poem went from a poem about settling into a schedule, to whatever this is. Mondays do weird things to us sometimes.
The picture was taken at Salem Art Works.