Fool for Love
 
My very large and quite psychotic client
divided things in black and white. He did
reduce his weight, and he was med-compliant,
though he was far from where the sane are hid.
 
“It’s a sad day,” I told him, “when you can’t
tell your friends from your enemies.” In fact,
that troubled him. We walked. He looked askant
in my direction, truth a thing he lacked.
 
A fool for love, like the philosopher
with saddle and with bridle, I spent years
loving the whole world. I did not demur.
There was a price. I paid for it in tears.
 
Messiah! I remember how I went
for circumcision – totaling my car –
and knelt there in the street. My mind was bent
by holiness, as if it were at war.
 
John Isbell
 
If you have any thoughts about this poem,  John Isbell would be pleased to hear them