What if dementia and mental illness are just two neighboring states with poorly defined borders?
In Dementia, people work like overly programmed robots: work, work, work, until they break, then they work no more.
The broken brain malfunctions in chaotic, angry, pain, and whoever “you” happen to be,”you” must be the one to blame.
In Mental Illness, one state over, one man’s spirit’s guide him,
to sleep in a box by the river
while his wife feeds the babes bits of rabbit (oh boy!)
with gallons of heavy cream.
And the rhinos play hide and seek underneath the pickle trees.
In both states, it matters not which,
the population is very thick
with folks, I know and I know I love.
And yes, I have some digs there, too, way out in the way out sticks.
It’s an annex, actually, called the Land of Enchantment,
where the Pronghorn and the Roadrunner run.
we are roasting ragweed over the fire, tonight when the sky turns dark blue.
I’m on my way there now. I’m bringing the butter.
See ya there? I hope you’ll come. Sit by the fire, call the talkin’ rock a liar.
No, not really. Ay ¡Carrizo!
Ha ha hoy!
Ha ha, hoy!