I don’t want to make sense.
To tie the shoelaces of reason.
To improve forests by cutting down
trees.
Using perfect grammar
for want of meaning.
To disregard poetry.
A fool can write poetry,
yet poetry can say it all.
I love terribly,
and hear voices inside voices.
Mimic birds who uncontrollably
compose music.
Admire lichens on a tree
beautiful as art.
Doing things that make me happy
precisely for their fun.
Don’t insist I be smart.
Don’t insist I tow a line.
I’d rather fly a kite,
eat ice cream cones,
and say shoo to people
who can’t let go,
and let their mood go up.
Just don’t make sense
and we’ll get along.
I learned more at recess
than I ever did
behind a desk inside.