On the occasion of Poetry Month, The duty, with the complicity of the Office of Poetic Affairs, gives a poem to read each week. For this first of five weeks: The Conjurerluxurious.
I was asked to write a poem here.
The theme: Sweet madness
Before I started, I searched through my notes. As I browsed the miles of pages in my library, I took known and safe routes.
I was looking for a quote
Something smart, serious
something solid
Oh, I found several, none for me
SO
i thought about crazy
It’s what
a mad person. What is the sweet
It’s what
there
madness
it’s what
madness sweet
What’s this here
madness sweet
It’s what
madness
it’s what
what is madness
madness,
It is
what the
madness, what is madness, what is madness
there
madness, what is madness
what’s this here
madness, what is madness
sweetness, what is it
madness, what is sweet
What’s this here
madness, what is the
madness,
what’s this here
madness,
It is
What
what is madness
And that’s when I remembered the time this guy was painting my living room. His boots well anchored, balanced on the rungs of a ladder placed on the windowsill on one side, on the banister of the stairs on the other, he painted like this, with his pole and his roller, a flight of stairs below him. He told me that a screenwriter had once gone to see him and his friends to find out how they thought, a madman. He was laughing as he told me this, while continuing to paint an indigo blue on the wall. I wasn’t listening to much of his story, only looking at the ladder, which moved a little as he moved. He laughed saying that he had already fallen from much higher, not to worry about him. At the end, he pointed to a small corner where the bruise spilled over the window frame. Putting on his coat, he added that he had done it on purpose. So that I remember he wasn’t the best.
I’ve forgotten his name.
He was one of my first performance art mentors, unbeknownst to him. One day, maybe, I’ll tell you about a time when I went too far