Sonnet by Karen Layman

Perhaps I am crazy—I see things, I hear things.
I remember my dreams with startling clarity,
Wonderful, chaotic tangles of people and various other strings
But the real and mundane? I only bother with them rarely
But I’m not the only one—I can’t be
There must be someone, somewhere
Who is “weirder” than me.
Or do all of us “wierdos” live in our own castles in the air?
Maybe we’re all insane—
“We’re all mad here”
Every one of us, running around and raising Cain
Each in our own right a chevalier
And a hoper, and a schemer—
Or perhaps I’m merely a chronic daydreamer.