At the five-o-clock point of the colon is where
I am stuck like an overgrown presence of pain
That can’t be gotten rid of. I simply must wait.
In the meantime I’m losing the will to create.
It would seem that this body is on a campaign
To teach me a damned lesson… perhaps not to swear.

World War Three in slow motion is instant world news.
It mirrors well the conflict that rages in me.
Must there be some connection wherein I may find
A solution to offer relief of some kind?
Doctors say that I’m normal. It’s hard to agree,
But if I don’t, it will be a battle I’ll lose.

The Movement is ongoing and awfully slow
Like the news. My world issues are known by no one
But my own consciousness in a state of duress.
By my writing about this I may gain success
In at least finding humor and ultimate fun
With this living dilemma wherein I must grow.

I can treat my trick muscle with comic relief
Of a kind that is corny yet tickles the mind
Into instant exposure to some healing grace.
It remains ever important that I embrace
Every wonderful thought and feeling I can find
And pray that the presence of my pain will be brief.