The crazy think people are crazy
In a ratio of how much they are crazy.
In a text message my wife called me crazy,
Recalling a former lover’s text, calling me crazy,
And I thought, for a moment, all woman have one soul, which is crazy;
Women have different shapes, but one soul, which is crazy,
My lover and my wife, exactly the same, the same crazy;
All women who love you at first inevitably turn crazy,
Just because they realize, loving you, they were crazy,
And crazy always needs to convince itself it is not crazy;
I, of course, am crazy when I think the crazy are crazy,
Because one person is not crazy; we all live in crazy
And crazy cannot exist in one person. The all is crazy;
That’s why it seemed wife and lover had the same crazy;
There’s an all-encompassing all, which is crazy.
Within this crazy only the sanity of the individual is crazy,
Because only one at odds with crazy is crazy;
The whole thing cannot be crazy; only parts can be crazy,
And that’s why, using reason with wife, lover, I was called crazy;
Unless you join in with the Crazy All, you’ll be called crazy;
The only way not to be crazy is to join the crazy.
The One cannot be anything—everything disappears in the One;
So if you act like everyone else, you are not crazy—
But also you are not interesting, not loved, not loving. You are not crazy,
Because that’s what the crazy person so badly wants: not to be crazy.
We can safely avoid trouble, or lose a fortune—if we are lazy.
Time will tell if we are lucky—or if this is completely crazy.