.

Unfaithfully Recorded

The madness of the artist—
Notwithstanding—
is unavoidable
for its heart is always found
in some vast beacon of light,
glowing from an unexpected
source of discomfort and pleasure
as if jetting forth from
the single source of deathly water
from which we all drink—
Collective unconscious,
maybe—
on every occasion
offered without variation
causing sentient beings to expect
nothing different—
No variation in choice
of beverage, hot or cold,
in any language—
and all experience
stems without ceasing,
driving the observant person
over the edge to discover
the very madness I here
describe unfaithfully—
Do not trust my shaking hand—
I only trust fully in
the ambidextrous.

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