amber on the stress-meter

agitated state
calls for a dance floor
where hips can gyrate
in time with the music beating
in the ear where tunes r keepin’

but what’s clear
is

this sketch poem is a mechanism
for copin’
in my brain my mind
is jump-ropin’
if i was a high performance athlete
i might be blood dopin’

and all the ben johnson’s say what
and all the carl lewis’ say what?!?
and marion jones finally says you know what
and all the at-batters say no
they say
never
they say
not once

but this rhyme’s gotta die
’cause time is on the fly
a minute to write the thoughts
try to connect the dots

reality calls me to a meetin’
so this rhyme’s gotta stop