Not a Fountained Garden

Psychology, art, appearance, and my personal impression.

Sanity is not a fountained garden,
a comfortable sweater,
or a speech that the Senate listens to.
Niether distant nor pleasant,
it has nothing to do with power.

Sanity is a mural painted
on a whitewashed rotting
barn, with kindergarten colors;
The meaning of life is in the
horses and hay; the meaning of art
is in the splinters poking through
the finger-painted heart.

The air blows
through the warps; a spider
swings her belly in the shadow of the pump,
and my arms swing under the rush
of water bearing
in soft blonde hair cold beads.

The mural in the center reads
“Come in. Lie in the hay. Ride
away.” Curlicues surround.
The initials of names abound.
Painted flowers slither like vines
to the roof, proof
only of activity:
Sanity.