Maybe it’s the times. Maybe it’s the lack of self-space.

Maybe it’s just that I’m getting old and even more Leary,

but I seem to be losing my mind.

My captive thoughts are escaping their brain cells,

running away from me like ungrateful rats

deserting a shrinking wit.

Concentrating is taking a frustrating effort,

although in truth it was never easy for me

and my fluttering butterfly mind

to keep a single thought in my head

when there were so may others to be thunked.

They wander in now from the corners of my mind,

like creeping jeepers in a horrorshow, and I’m afraid

that is what the next feature may be.

Hanging on to threads, following them through

before they unravel and I am lost in the backwoods

of my brain, just keeping hold of thoughts

seems to be getting harder.

Oh, well.

I’m not going to worry.

If I did lose my mind,

how would I know?

Maybe madness is normal in times like these.