I think I’m losing my poetry.
Not in some bleak, calamitous way,
Just – I don’t know how to start anymore.

Is that the problem?
That I’m caught up in my once-upon-a-times
And my dark-and-stormy-nights?
Maybe.

Or. I’m trapped in my metaphors.
Even – I’m tangled in my analogies.
Trying to tap the trees of every experience I’ve ever had and
Bleed them for all their meaning.
Picking up each imperfect seed of memory and desperately
Injecting their cores with GMO/Pesticide/Make this Matter/Juice.

This cyclical little life of mine is whirling too quickly,
My tail is tying knots in my intestines.
I can see the nape of my neck approaching in the distance,
Time taps her toes on my scaled sloping back and tsk-tsks not long now.

I keep on asking her what the countdown is for.
She checks her watch and smiles.