Riding a roller coaster,
smoking the ashes of a
fragile egg-shelled yoke-leaking brain,
it’s too much, cried the poet,
bereft of words, looking for inspiration.
Look outside, the muses chant in unison,
…but it’s scary,
and I’ve been threatened with violence…
he could be insane…or have a gun…
and it chips away at my soul.
It’s a world filled with trauma /
and some of us stand /
and some of us sit on the roller coaster
speeding past all obstacles /
screaming…when will it change??!!
March 6th, 2026