I can see madness clothed in its ordinary feathers humping along the skyline homeless looking for someone to nestle down with. Ugly, flightless bird, it adopts airs and says you’ll soar, pushes you from the precipice you’re balanced on calling after with promises of vistas and diamonds forged in deep fissures. But it’s ashes only at the bottom and the long climb back up the cliff face. If madness comes sit with it and offer tea and dried apricots and concrete conversation. It’s a good time to pay the bills and mop the floor. It shrinks back into its ordinary plumage in the laminex and flourescence of kitchens. If you must venture out, sit on the side of busy roads and watch commuters, get on a bus and ride with the shopping of a single mother killing your leg space. Carry bags and feel life’s heavy, honest ache.