Mystagogia Poem by William Greco

'what is your wishing?
my little child, my little idiot
didn't you listen to cross-eyed man? '
'as you may know',
whispered the deranged father,
'inveterate dreamers
have the most fragile belief in life
they're chain-smokers by nature
and with grim rise of urbanization
in the end they only follow
the cold wave to Norilsk'
so I ask again:
'dear mademoiselle
dear chatelaine
dear mistress of nonchalance
aren't your exploits a little bit foolish?
aren't you going a little bit mad? '
and through the amused laugh
the sinister answer follows:
'aren't we all mad here, my dear? '