All poets are mad (a poem)

Inspired by a blog post by Allison Marie Conway.

All poets are mad
and there’s no asylum on the planet
large enough to hold them all
so they roam freely
all angst and ampersands
with no one to love them
and nothing to keep them warm
in a cold, cold world

All poets are mad
doomed to notice things they shouldn’t
and emote in horrendous detail
every obscure emotion or memory that comes up
at the mention of any one descriptor
compelled to write every one of them down
as they occur
and sort through the rubble later

All poets are mad
the same subjects come up
time and time again
not leaving them alone
until every possible angle has been wrung
from whatever it is that haunts them
each new line further cementing the possibility
that this is all life will ever be

All poets are mad
but you knew that—
you were at the last meeting…

(16 May 2018)