And She Dreams of Crazy
If I was a crazy painter,
I’d pull over to the side of the road and paint for them.
If I was a crazy poet
I’d cut off traffic and drench my page in words for them.
If I was a crazy musician,
I’d play to the core of the world –
No – through the core of the world and back out the other side just for them.
You with your heartbreaking orange sunset rocks
And deep sea shadows.
You who make me think I could jump
Off one of your jagged edges
And end up flying.
And maybe I could
(For a moment or two)
If I was a crazy painter
Too bad I’m not crazy
Or a musician, poet, painter, either.
But it wouldn’t matter anyways.
I’m not driving.