Isn't There

It’s like the tugs of tidal pulls,
you think –
from rumbling seas of hormones –
zaps of neuro-

transmitters –
that flip and suck you to a brink –
and keep you
fumbling at analyses

which always
trail pathetically behind:
your mind’s
no match for this. It is as if

God plucked
you up and kissed you –
drugged your lips –
and bits of everything

you see and taste and feel,
believe and hear and wield:
and yes! – above all –
smell – comprise an antidote

to hell which is itself a hell:
and furthermore
you’re patently
too old

to get
so god-blessed
het up – stunned
and fizzed and bare.

Whatever you had hoped
would be
the let up, honey?
Isn’t there.


.