Confined in space, all boundaries have shrunk.
The muse is not too keen to play my mistress.
I savor every morsel on my tongue.
Time is a loan, - I’m glad to pay the interest.
It’s a commodity. There’s not much to explain,
But that won’t quench a stubborn academic,
And who can judge me should I go insane, -
What else would you expect in a pandemic?
My one-year-old is teething. He won’t nap.
My nine-year-old loves instigating drama.
My wife’s fed up. It seems like she might snap.
This has become my daily panorama.
Yet, life is beautiful, regardless, after all,
As one’s perspective narrows, comes to focus.
The profile of a chair against the wall
Can be enough to spark a magnum opus.
And so I drift, not sure where to begin,
Connecting words with mental acrobatics,
Convinced that I could rope the beauty in,
If I could pull the right line from the static.