Like my finicky constrictor with one third of his body
Erected up like the Eiffel Tower he looks to the top
Waiting for the next meal to be delivered to satisfy
When the pain becomes too much to bare
On the move he goes searching for the next treat
Around in circles is all he can do confined in a glass music box
When normally even in nature they just lay and wait
I too am like that serpent that suffocates and then consumes
Waiting for that early morning call to start my day off  
Too start it on the perfect note don’t matter what side of the bed
Finding myself at the pumps to go the extra mile I see out in the distance
I know of a place, heart is banging ever so hard here I come now
As if a pitcher on his dirt mound flexing before his throw
First pitch makes it a fast ball then I run to the plate to try and hit it
Strike one! Too fast, bases are loaded ninth inning uneven score series at stake
Second pitch makes it a slow ball and uses precision, articulate the words this time
Ran again and missed now Nero’s stadium of the dead is chanting, “Send Us Home!”
You can do it; I’m doing it for the home team that is all that is on your mind
Like my bag of tricks I pull out another, I’ll show them who spits out diamonds when he talks
Last and final pitch I send out a curve ball ran ever so fast and grabbed my club
Looked to the heavens and wacked a GRAND SLAM sending the dead to home, we won!
I know someday later I must follow, till then I’ll take my time rounding the bases
Smelling all the flowers and listening to the melody of birds along the way
For I look at people different now and I take time to look at all of them in their eyes.

(CARSr. 5-16-12)