I’m 38, so
if I this is the halfway
exclamation mark
then 76 is the climax.
When you think you're having
a lion-roaring time and the next morning
you wake up and your brain is broken
into a frenzied cage of rabid squirrels,
and your body is shattered shards
of fiber glass, desperately searching for what fits where,
and your spirit is being eaten by cobra snakes with great fangs,
and your heart has shriveled
into a moldy dead cactus,
churning your intestines to the point where dysentery feels attractive...
This is a crisis.
Bad dreams are still
Dreams themselves,
And if time travel exists
We are all always.
To be concluded.