The Mad Man

Cold teeth
chattering
in a miserable
vibration
carried through
a humid breath,
a whisper
uttered by a mad man
who speaks
only to himself

all the ears
are too busy
with traffic jams
too busy
with the loss
of their home team
in the play offs
and too busy
updating their Facebook
relationship status
from "taken" to "single"
and slandering
their former love
like they were nothing
from the start

Nobody has time
to be curious
about the ideas
of the mad man
freezing from his feet
with glossy
empty eyes
fixed on his thoughts
fixed on
nothing real
with patience
like a tree
waiting for
the city transit bus
to nowhere
in particular

He mutually
doesn't have time
for everyone's earthly fears
no time to stress
over tax season
no time to feel despair
over bad credit
and spying
on a promiscuous wife

His brain
is not plagued
with a drowning,
unrelenting sea
of worry
the trouble
that decays the mad man
like leprosy
like cancer
is but singular
and simple
yet poisoning
and crippling
graying the hair,
drying the skin,
and sucking the marrow
from his cracking bones

The mad man
simply
doesn't know what to do
with his mind