If I have already
gone insane
but I want to get
crazier yet,
what’s my move?
Go outsane?
Crazy outside means
Attack of leaf blower,
mind wound down
like weedeater string;
the smell of suddenly
snipped neurons;
amphibious on gasoline,
when two strokes are
none too many.
How many RPMs?
How much throttle?
Green guffaw,
zero turn.
In the end,
I throw myself
to the ground
and roll around
on freshly mowed grass
until there’s nothing left
to cut.
Note: This poem first appeared at The Literary Bohemian. I thank them for publishing my work.
https://literarybohemian.com/poetry/two-poems-by-john-randall/
The Writing of John B. Randall 