I am fragile.
Riding to work,
the anxiety makes me shake.
I try to listen to my breathing,
embrace the quakes,
let the music do the soothing.
I scream to let out anger,
like spilling the yeast of the beast.
Roethke once said: This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
I will probably be okay,
and die another day.
Hopefully as a better,
more fulfilled man.