I hope you find something here in this book Madroots (that is coming to you poem by poem starting with #0) that helps you understand and metabolize your own experiences with madness in your life.
For me, it wasn’t all bad stuff. We had some fun too. At some point while writing this first poem, the frozen methane bubbles that I loved so much in our early-winter pond out back on our Alberta acreage, and times of respite, got woven together. Seems to me there’s rest and breathing room in a bubble.
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