A Mad Man's Monologue

By Daniel Helman Lee

Perhaps I was insane; mad, as they say.

There were times I could hear the clings and clangs of thoughts in my brain

Rattling around like a shaken box of tools.

My thoughts would bounce off each other

And meiosis to make new ones – even though there was hardly any room.

They’d scramble for space, as crammed as a child’s fist finished digging in a cookie jar.

They’d knot and entangle in netted webs, and I’d sip my mad-hatter’s tea

- (A family recipe) -

And smile from afar.

I think my head got bigger, I’m not quite sure. But how else it could have boxed

All my thoughts?

Perhaps they overflowed and gushed into the world.

I’d think a thought could pop by another mind, say hello, then goodbye,

Prancing from person to person to greet myriad minds.

Of course, I assume my thoughts would be shunned out, tossed around like a hot potato –

They’re quite noisy and bothersome, I’ve heard people say so.

Still.

I’d like to be somewhat optimistic and believe that when I popped my clogs

My thoughts didn’t disappear like balloons popped

But rather floated away, their strings snipped from my soul

To nest in other heads that adopted

My orphaned thoughts

And nurtured them in a home.

By Daniel Helman Lee