Estée KlarThe Joy of Autism

I’ve been to London
I’ve been to France
(this is not about your underpants)
Yet there’s nothing better than rigorous dance
With arms flailing
Joy assailing
Down the river of happenstance

The dance ends
Begins again
Like sun and storms
Asunder

I’ve traveled near
I’ve traveled far
In clacking trains
And humming planes
A hope of something Other.

But home I always do return
to warmth like beacon fire;
cracking, hissing, fluttering,
This we all desire.

We live with misery and content,
yet the latter we do yearn,
this ordinary life cannot be bent,
for all it does is burn.

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