Medusa

I’ve got that medusa head

Curls on curls, in your bed

Don’t look into my eyes, I’ll turn you to stone

Then you won’t hear me calling on your phone

I don’t mean to be venomous

It’s just how I am I guess

When the radio asks for a donation, I change the station

My cogitation gets agitated, dancing between play and work, dinner and dessert

I try to chop off the head of an anxious thought, for naught-

More troubled rumination sprouts from the wound

I pray inner peace will resurface soon

Always a breath away