Why these bilious bilgy beads of
Salty soakings from each pore?
Why this hurried hapless heartbeat
Racing rapid, run amok?
Footfalls flailing furious with
Rapid repetitious rote in
Harpsichordial harmony
Over, under, up and out.
Breath becomes belabored as the
Will to win the wayward war
Runs its raucous ragtag ranting
Through a muted melted mind.
And just before I bound into the
Doldrums of deflation
I carefully consider
Ne’er to do this deed again.
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