He speaks of the dark thing inside
At times I too know it

Nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide
Why did I want to be a poet?

The emotion overflows
And I cannot write novels

Now my little apartment
Like a hobbit's hovel

I've fought and failed and fought
Often a loser in this world

Emmylou not Steinbeck
My choice of The Pearl

My mind at rest feels good
But God! My mind a-swirled.