Crazy
Everybody tells me I’m crazy because I walked around
muttering and screwed my courses
I’m crazy for losing Financial Aid and living in a
crazy old house full of rifles and books
where I’m crazy in the attic like a Gothic novel and
crazy in bed when I yell in my sleep and of course
because of the other things I do in bed
I’m crazy, but I’ve known that all along and don’t
mind a bit
I’m jobless and crazy, crazy with power, crazy for glamour
and rhinestones and stars,
you’ll laugh at me and point your fingers and I’ll still
be crazy when they lock me up but I’ll be
crazy about the surgical orderly who shaves my head,
that’s the kind of beautiful crazy I’ll be
I’d be crazy to take off my clothes as I read this, and
crazy to take yours off too,
we’d all be crazy about the policemen with big black boots
who’d take us away when we were finally naked
they’d think we were crazy when they read all our personal
records
and saw how I used to be crazy for Jesus, and crazy for real
when I cared that they said I was crazy,
but now I’m 22 and growing my hair, I’m crazy with joy
when I think how I’ll look in a year in the city, out
on the street
being crazy about New York boys, red hair! brown
eyes! blue jeans! who’ll say
You’re crazy when I fall into their eyes.
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