they say you must be mad
gone out of your mind
seeing things, hearing voices
to create extraordinary art
it will not be real art unless
you cut off your ear
talk to invisible friends
or howl to the moon
You cannot write a poem
or paint or otherwise create
magnificent real art
in a nice suburban home
art worthy of its name
is born in pain and madness
nurtured by the midwives
rage, fury, and paranoia
real art creeps into existence
in foam-lined sanatorium cells
or cold drafty lofts with no
running water or electricity
being comfortable and
likely considered sane
I must remain content as a
creator of ordinary art