Do your worst

I am wondering, wondering. I can't sit still for wondering.

Why am I always in so much pain? If I were a pack animal, they'd have shot me by now and put me out of my misery.

There's a clog in my poetry all of a sudden. I don't quite know how to dislodge it. But I feel it all backing up. Bottlenecking. Intensifying. Furious words waiting to get out. Fiery phrases that don't care that the Lakers won again. Verse that pulsates, irrespective of time or state or twinges. It's all waiting. And I have no means to free it. I am powerless today.