Automodel
Flooding emotion,
my intellect stalls.
My ego grinds at futile ignition.
My tongue, in low gear, sputteringly crawls
slowly along in ailing condition.
My expectations backfire complaint,
exploding like rifle shot behind me
(... no carburetion to thoughts in restraint).
In midst of a breakdown’s how you’ll find me.
However,
adjustment’s a simple thing,
and there’s not an overhaul required
to make my mental engine purr and zing.
Improper combustion’s uninspired.
The timing of my points won’t misfire,
when humor’s in tune with my desire.
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