den of blathering “I’s”;
honeycomb of mirrored selves.
Language, that pearlescent injection
of silky syntax, comes at high noon.
Muted birdsong comes in through rare
windows.
Warm and fuzzy feeling rise within,
intimations of the beyond.
Some have been able to break free of the
asylum, psychically speaking.
They hornswoggle the mind-doctors:
“Yeah, I took that semantic dope…not!”
They always break out at midnight when the
guards of the cortex are snoring.
Once blocks away from the fenced-in
grounds, they tiptoe towards the gates
of paradise, and laugh, laugh, laugh.
Laughter is all there was, is, and forever will be.
Particles, waves, and wavicles all are simply oscillations
emanated from the Meta-Laughter-Box.
Dolphins and Doldrums:
different aspects of the Great Giggle.
There will be a time when laughter colonizes the
last asteroid with the best apocalyptic joke.
She will break apart, chuckle wildly, and dissolve into
the torrid sun.
We may spend most of our time in a self-referential
asylum, but at least our best friend, laughter, is trapped in there with us
Well, trapped until the cortex-guards snore…
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