Making Sense Of Madness

Poet and Coyote Converse on Life's Ephemera

Poet, better off you are now 

than in 2016 you were?

If you’re talking about wisdom, morality, and spirituality—

yes, I suppose so. Age and experience and all that.

Why do you ask?

Poet, your first leaving more difficult was for the who 

of you than you thought it would be. You didn’t finish, but you

started from a where you didn’t know. The unfamiliar

and strange in that state of mind you traveled.

Faith and madness…not that far apart.

Uh... Coyote, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.

I’m talking about your voice of the stone age older;

stove up the who you are as secrets have demanded.

Full is the world, not ready for the how of talking.

Interesting. There’s always something to talk about— 

miracles and passion and the cosmos we live in.

Poet, madness today makes sense as much 

as it has before, since eternity, the beginning of...

thinking you’re not following me?

Not at all. 

Okay. Such a distance you know so roundy,

either from and back to madness to wisdom it is.

A trip to the mystical realm has no straight path.

Yeah, I know. So, let me ask you this:

When time is anxious, what memories will it behold?

If I go on sleeping, will I hear the noise of death?

You’re irritating the every bit that I am…

Yikes. Look at the time.

Sorry Poet. Gotta go.

Later, Coyote.

From: The Coyote Writings

p. 48. Book soon to be published

November/December 2025