On a bipolar tear
Up before early dawn
Manic run through mind’s wilderness
Sidestep clumsy brain’s brawn
There’re pills to control
So sad they’re too small
Chemical concentration camp
Ensures the strange never turn pro
Because normal can’t handle
Such pleasure and pain
Abyssal thoughts depression can bring
But, Jesus, God, think of the poetry
This state, what it creates
It’s not to everyone’s taste
Neither’s oatmeal for breakfast
Kidney pastry with fava beans for lunch
Nor a supper of words accompanied
By shiraz, black ink, white page…