Mad, Sad, and an Ignoramus to Know
I don’t send color sunward round,
Nor flowery, scented invite—
There is no buzz to RSVP me.
I’m ignorant of upward sound,
Without feathery, lifted take off—
Here the winds hit like a mosh pit.
I’m unacquainted with onward bound,
No wavy, thrusted freedom—
Everywhere ebb tide sucking backslide.