Several phantom limbs;
the schizophrenic harvests
wax replacements.
The lunatic has sunshine on his mind
and ghosts urging him with whispers
to indulge whims not meant for mortals
that lack skewed vision and intent.
Sanity wanes without a trace.
There are places outside the cage,unimaginable
but graspable
when the bars rattle
and confident thoughts
prattle,
praising hubris
in the struggle
to cut his anchor
from the rubble.
Icarus got high off his candlelight,
higher on the wax, highest as melodies
with featherweight melted across his back.
Icarus forgot the sun -
a schizophrenic cannot forget;
above disease and cluttered dreams
he sees a project in the prospect.
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