Simon thinks, and they surge
and urge like sounds of a quarreling choir,
I'm gonna entertain 'em,
treat 'em as my cousins
at my hallucinated picnic,
which is as real as the rain
on the street out there.
Trying to lock them out
has worn me out, he thinks.
So does trying to select
a leading voice. That kind
of thing and thinking gets me kicked off
buses. Sometimes I feel
my mind my brain want,
oh want to produce an opera
all by themselves
without the help of
pill-wielding psychiatrists
who around me
seem to lose their sense of humor.
Oh I entertain them, it does
seem, though. They should be paying me,
at least my fare there; and back.
hans ostrom 2015
