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.
I’m not going to worry.
If I did lose my mind,
how would I know?
Maybe madness is normal in times like these.