[Click the landscape photo above to hear music by the author.]

Worries descend to nausea if not

countered by reason.

But reason can be mimed

by the language of self-indulgence.

Yesterday I might have kept

a softball left in the park.

But I threw it at a chimera,

a self-god man.

Being mortal brings potentials

unknown to gods,

who simply will their wishes,

and so are soon bored.

I might instead have thrown the ball

at lightening speed, being a

quarter god myself—or is it an eighth?

I might have made a great hole

in the Earth

or left a souvenir on the moon,

to be discovered by some perplexed Astronaut.

But I didn't.

In the end I chose to return to meaning after all

to bravely live as an

earthly being, rather than reveal

my divinity.

So I left the ball behind.

I hate it when people flaunt

being part immortal.

It's indecent, an affront to

all who struggles mightily to

sustain the pretense,

of reality,

if pretense it be.

I think so.

No, no I don't.

I mustn't allow that,

for mortal pleasures' sake.

For your sake,

and for mine,

should you read this.