by Marc Gunn, 9/22/2004

I went back to the doctor today for the next round of prescription meds to help me overcome the residual cough left over from my infection a couple weeks ago.

The mind is spinning around like a whirling dervish.
Racing. It's spastic. Thanks Monsieur Prednisone
And the neverending drama of psy-chronic sinusitis.

I long for a moment or two of mental peace
When I'm not obsessing about my imperfections.
A huge magnifying glass is staring at me
I can barely blink to see back
At the brobdingnagian eye, bloodshot and aching.

I'm tired of bitching about it. I'm exhausted from coughing.
My eyes want to shut and pass into a narcoleptic sleep
Until my disposition is a bit cheerier,
And I'm ready to be friendly again.

Instead, I'm left floating in space-i-ness
With synthesized lights flashing little tendrils of hypnotic insulin
Insulated within my own self-dissatisfaction and that of my peers.

Meanwhile, the ethereal hugs, kisses, and cuddles
Of non-existant friendships float by me.
I can only watch and mourn their passing
While I patiently search for the four leaf clover beneath the tree
With the wind blowing through the leaves
Through the grass
Across the Texas hill country
And far away into a sea of impatient kisses
That chase me away
From my own holistic fears.