The madman

The madman
I saw him un-wear his watch for a week
For telling it was 1pm when to him it was 1300h,
Like a father grounding his son for a mischievous solecism.

He took his shoes off claiming they cut off 
his intimacy with the ground
His clothes suffered malicious tears from him 
so that he could let more sun rays in
He never once laved 
for he pitied the micro-life that clung to him

He followed the wind wherever it took him,
And returned with it so faithfully 
Like a wave in the sea he was tossed about 
in his grandeur thoughtfulness,
A thoughtfulness he’d give his mind, and soul, and life...

He was a man with more thoughts than actions,
More dreams than realities,
More hair than required,
More jumpiness than an ant’s.

It was the thirteenth hour that he asked me
what the time was.
“1 pm,” I said
“You need to see a psychiatrist,” he postulated.
                                            James Kaluna 

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