From the land of The Odds, recollection have I
That, were I not in Kansas, my life might improve.
If that still were the premise I’d follow each day –
To fly off to a next state that sees it my way –
Then all effort is focused on making that move.
If I stay here my spirit is likely to die.

But is that a bum story? I know I can be
In the lap of fulfillment of all my desires
Notwithstanding the torment that I misperceive.
That my magic is brighter I’m damned to believe.
Raging yet within me are those distant wildfires
On that stage where The People now clearly can see.

Frightfully ugly Odds can get in a few years
Of the reign of a wizard who curses this land.
Some would use the word, ‘treason,’ as truly it fits.
Justice may be eluded as karma permits.
There are some flying monkeys who now understand
That support for this wizard spell binds them in fears.

I had pulled back the curtain. Unlike the canine,
Seeing not a soul in there, with sense of smell lost,
The projection confused me. Relying on wit
For the sorting of truth from the blast of bullshit
Is obsessive/compulsive and too high a cost
To the human I can be when I’m feeling fine.

So, why do I keep writing? Do I fan the flames
On the stage where the image yet draws attention
By command through psychosis and cheap magic tricks?
No matter what is happening, I’ll get my fix
When expounding verbosely. My work won’t be done
‘Til my spirit releases all that ego claims.