Words blur
in the mind’s
eye. There are
times when my
voice spews as if
the spigot’s turned
to blast. But once
in a while there
comes a drought.
The world spins
wordlessly around
a box of flesh that
holds a frustrated
but ever-worsening
nausea. Who can
turn this chaotic
turpitude into a
pleasant pie (if
not at least a
distinctly edible
casserole)?
During times
like these,
certainly
