And the office
Of the mind
Is full of clowns
Of long forgotten
Dreams
There is chaos
In there
Fighting
The restrictions
Of imposed
Order
And the guests
To the tea party
Are all
Late
Or mad
And some of them
Are yet
To exist
So what is it
We are supposed
To do
From our
Padded cells
Polish them
Because that's
What shows
We care
Buy a new suit
And a top hat
Revisit the past
Dress in brogues
And monocles
And wear pocket watches

They say
She slipped a disc
Coughing
And her soul
Was made of glass
But they
Weren't there
When it shattered
Though they
Collected and
Displayed
The pieces
Willingly
Another notch
In time
To prove it wasn't
Them
Though secretly
They knew
They were only
Counting down
Minutes
Of their own
Inevitability