Logical Madness
James Tyler
There’s madness and logic
to slipping a slice of pizza
into your pocket at lunch.
They called him Catfish
because of the shape of his face,
the way his whiskers protruded.
The mix of lint and marinara,
of coin and sausage,
of dollar and olive.
Is there more madness
in putting a dandelion in your pocket,
the very seeds of your madness?
This Catfish is no online amour.
He lives in a land of padded rooms
and five point restraints.
What is a psychiatrist but a noodler
of those who have lost their noodle,
who wades in the murky waters of the mind?
I’ll tell you what, dear doctor,
as you skin this warmwater fish,
remember that you’re no Jesus,
no Freud or Skinner. I’m just a minnow, food
for a loon. Give me my pills on a slice of your time,
and I’ll shake your hand like a dead, wet fish.
James Tyler
There’s madness and logic
to slipping a slice of pizza
into your pocket at lunch.
They called him Catfish
because of the shape of his face,
the way his whiskers protruded.
The mix of lint and marinara,
of coin and sausage,
of dollar and olive.
Is there more madness
in putting a dandelion in your pocket,
the very seeds of your madness?
This Catfish is no online amour.
He lives in a land of padded rooms
and five point restraints.
What is a psychiatrist but a noodler
of those who have lost their noodle,
who wades in the murky waters of the mind?
I’ll tell you what, dear doctor,
as you skin this warmwater fish,
remember that you’re no Jesus,
no Freud or Skinner. I’m just a minnow, food
for a loon. Give me my pills on a slice of your time,
and I’ll shake your hand like a dead, wet fish.