I-N-S-A-N-I-T-Y Plus Two = Four

Logical fingertips draft memories
Selected on oh so limited lines
Left in the torn-up pockets,
unreachable by my hands.

Behind the pebbles, in the forgotten stream
Trees gather in huddle formations
Whisper secrets.
When I’m in the dark, the coast is clear.

Tumbling down the stairs
In a sunken mattress flower
Reveals an opening filled with apple cores,
naked and in bruised forms.

Arguments rampage when the lights flash
In the background of the fireworks erupting in my eye.
The moon’s parked in front and
the sign says road closed.

Where can the holy cross
fit in the remote selective shelves?
Where can the blinds
be closed in those closet doors?

Remind yourself no pity
When the period comes up,
where the spider web sunlight stares up
and awakens you from your bed.