The last time I spoke to them,

the world spun backward—

The flimsy hand I had on sanity

let go as my wrist was fractured

The black and yellow insanity of

A hive of angry Yellowjackets

swarms in my head. If Hell had a

sound, it would be this unholy racket.

I ignore now, the little wisps here—

the noises that have no reason.

I pretend I am unaware that

Their Number is legion.

Now, not so ...

One day I thought, in the years that

Youth was wasted on my age,

I always expected an epiphany—

A chance to read the last page.

From that thought, there was born

a powerful, menacing obsession:

If I were compliant, I would be blessed with a precious lesson.

Through the stormy nights, I kept

an eye for the light at the end of the tunnel.

My head was held high with each success, and higher wh...