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I Close Down For Self Protection
Bistro blowhards jump around in Johnny time
Bota bing bota bang Bota bang bota bing.
Dendrites are clicking, where did they get teeth?
Who invited them anyway? Gray matter coughs.
Fishnet stockings fairly frolic along my brain highway.
My soul shuts herself off, not wanting involvement.
I am on pizazz power; polka dotted persimmon pot pie.
No one better ask me anything or even give me a look.
What’s happening? My eyes wonder. They are on fire.
My throat is tight, wearing a girdle of ridiculousness.
I keep my mouth in a straight line, figuring out nothing.
Sharing no secrets or ideas, closing down for self-protection.
Copyright ©
Caren Krutsinger
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