The remora hitching a ride was after my hide.
It took a bite.
I didn't feel right.
The hitching was itching.
Far from amusing!
I longed to return to the studio for one more musical rodeo.
I rushed to the surface,
hoping for some solace
But a shark beat me there.
And I ran out of air.
****
Nostrils like giant highways
let spring snot flow for days.
Allergies tickle, prickle and itch.
You cough and you sneeze, and your eyes twitch.
Can't make music in this condition.
Your brain turns to mush with medication.
Cottony thoughts dampen ambition
and any hope for artistic expression.
I just want to go to sleep,
and snore my way to oblivion.