They called you mad.
Probably because you only ever did two things.
One; you would laugh at us walking into Monday morning-
good citizens going to slit themselves
in exchange for something that is theirs to begin with.
You laughed at those wretched things.
Two; you would sleep throughout the day’s bloodshed,
through the April heat, through the sound
of Colombo breaking its teeth,
through incredible kindness and cowardice.
You slept on and on
No, wonder they christened you.
What is it like? – the place you dream of
with your eyes rolling to the back of your head
and your skin pumping out the ocean?
Is it somewhere far and flickering.
Who was it? – the thing that cracked you open
and broke in to your secret self and
stripped it naked in front of them?
Was it a girl? was she too beautiful?
When was it? – when was the last drop of time
(when everything shook and the curtain crashed,
to see that all along, there’s been goddamn nothing at all).
Last full moon, I heard you run screaming down the street
asking the ocean to wash us all down to hell…
Everyone needs a name for convenience’s sake.
I’ll call you Midnight.