It is simple


I will not tell you

If success is viable

whether I have picked

or not

A progression

Across dark dark landscapes


Contours of hell,

I navigate

There is not rest:

I work harder than anyone else


my home is a psych ward

few will understand

my demand for passion

and lust

I understand I need

to be published

like a dog needs its microchip

Maybe I need it more

than I need

most anything

I will revive myself

and write meager scraps

because not much is profound

Not much is celestial.

The border is

between here and heaven

Rhyming takes time

and focus

and intention

I need to cross into my spot

I want Andrews McMeel

After ten years of captivity

Show me


that is not trauma

Writing is best

I will take my books

Into aviation

I will thrive

off of

these last couple years

And the feedback

From running on fumes

shifting into validation

Will impact


STEM physics and maths.


I will help

You and everyone else.