i want to write clever and bright
but everything comes out
mundane and boring

and i know my daily grind
may well be a window
into the abstraction of  joy for others

but i feel i am writing blind, groping for words
in the hopes that they will be courteous and kind
enough to show their beauty to my walled in mind.

it is in this reality
that the fact most ungraciously to be given prominence
pertains to the phrenic frictive dissadence..

i have been swimming laps  in a pool of academic jargonese
and as i breastroke and butterfly through grant after grant appeal,
the reality becomes more and more surreal
as  beggars and funds unreel
and dance and swerve and dive and wheel
like birds in enraptured murmuration
causing unceasing surseration,
a whispering mindless meditation
of factsand figures
ad fintum
beating, beating
like a broken drum
bending, bruising
mind and soul
as  I swim on
down through the rabbit hole

but soon this madfly mendicant season will be done.
and then my muse may well return.....
and the healing, calming  words
will come
if not..
well then, I am undone