I want the crazy that's not contagious.
But it's really hard to get.
Some crazy comes after you,
As if its only cure for lonesome
Is to infect you,
Recombine its DNA inside and
Make you like it,
So that it will cause a twin,
Have someone to talk to,
An equal to wrestle with when boredom sets in.

But I've seen a beautiful nut job
Talking to herself,
Singing a new song of joy each morning.
She hears the percussive rhythms of the birds and the motorcars,
Is mindful of it and remembers it all day.
She shakes her ass to it,
Even in the grocery store.
Yes even, and especially, the hoity toity grocery store,
Where no one wants to catch her particular brand of crazy,
Except me.

I wonder if maybe it is contagious after all.

-jenn