Eventually I’ll write a refined sonnet. In the meantime, bear with me as I learn from my many mistakes. Here’s a sophomoric meditation on anxiety. Great artwork once again from the Met.
Sometimes I freak out with Parkie D.,
an aspect of this illness unrespected.
But now I think about anxiety,
and all the ways it leaves me disconnected.
It’s like a cactus burning deep within,
its scorching needles pressed against my skull.
They puncture eardrums, eyeballs. Pierce my skin
like scalpels ever sharper, never dull.
I worry that I’ll have to quit my job,
be forced to give up driving. Even worse,
my fantasies turn paranoid, macabre:
I picture myself rigid in a hearse.
But then I pop a hit of Sinemet,
and swim two miles. Splash! Forget the threat!
– Bruce Ballard
