Trying to scoop strong fiber
Into my head
And enjoy its strength.
My fiber has turned to mush—
Old oatmeal that needs to be tossed.
My spark is gone—turned off.
Wishing for what I do not have.
Oxygen and nature
pumping me up like helium
Making me airborne.
They are banned
even in small bites.
The octane of feeling free
not available.
A flat stale pancake am I
on ocean’s sandy ground.