Lunacy

I am about to go off a ski jump made of
hard plastic on roller skates in an attempted

back flip over the moon.
We forget to hit the anti-gravity switch and

I land on the desolate ground looking
up at the building from fifty yards away.

I try to explain to the operators that one over
infinity equals zero, and proves we do not exist;

proves that numbers are as useless as words,
and the moon is not the only lover I have kept a secret.

You invade my mind with blind meaning
I cannot find beyond midnight behind morning (I was tripping over

last nights bottles searching for a non-existent
glass of water when you iron horsed my heart)

my pulse a jagged fractal of imagined
chain reactions to your touch

which I have only felt in the much awaited dreams
I cannot force on myself as I sleep.

And when seeing your reflection each time
I look into the moons eyes is not enough;

I touch the wooden box inside my heart where you are pent up.
Are you waiting for me to set you free or am I waiting for you to let me?

Each day I polish the tarnished silver key.
I make sure you’re awake and watching.

Cackling a laugh like a crackling fire in my chest,
whose flames and smoke make my heart beat and pump my breath.

The moon’s steam works the clock gears of my bloodstreams venom
screaming inside each lunatic is the lunacy that makes him

(human?)