Making a Break for It
Sometimes I
feel like a
motherless child.
Sometimes I
feel like
Emily Dickinson
on a
rampage.
Sometimes I
feel I’ve
been saved
by the
bell–
sixty seconds
on a
stool a
new mouthpiece
water down
my trunks &
out I
go again.
Sometimes I
feel like
I’ve misplaced
a grenade
with the
pin pulled.
“Fire in the hole!”
I yell,
& the
house explodes.
Sometimes I
grow goofy
with hope
& cry
“Ally ally
in free!”
from a
dark street
in my
childhood,
but no
one comes
out of
hiding.
