A Place 
  
The twisting, churning, hysterical, 
Infinity of imperfections 
That plague the cosmos, 
Can sometimes push the 
Raving and delirious people, 
Who have it all figured out, 
To become sane. 
But me, I prefer to keep my 
Sanity subdued. 
To go away and enter 
My pseudo reality, 
Where what is true 
Is determined by gnomes. 
And all that is done, 
Is done with purpose. 
As the ground has been 
Strewn about with particulars 
Generating and evolving into 
The place were dreams come from. 
  
2/99 
  
1999 © Joshua Golden