On The Road, Again

I tried to be somebody mad
mad to live mad to be saved
but nothing comes of madness
that can’t be constrained
labelled and copied
reproduced forever
and ever
and ever until it becomes so diluted
so madly dissolved in it’s own madness
it is nothing but sad ticker tape
tapping the mundane
same old same-ness
spilling from any old
mouth lips
who’ve been reading the same books
smoking the same brand cigarettes
until they cough up everything they have
ever consumed
(or thought about consuming)
and a voice from the
back of an uncharacteristically
over-crowded room shouts
DON’T BELIEVE EVERYTHING YOU READ
BECAUSE THEN THERE WON’T BE ANY BELIEF LEFT-OVER
FOR THE REST OF US

and ever so slowly
we’ll slip
sinfully sadfully
back into
private madness.

ABB