Midstream Crisis

 Row, row, row your boat…

too late to change your mind…

over the top, in no man’s land…

a piece of raw meat in an open field.

Somebody’s world is coming down…

someone is stuck in a revolving door…

suddenly the solid ground liquefies…

it’s happening with greater frequency.

All dressed up and no place to go.

Every time you leave your front door

the streets don’t look the same…too 

quick; can’t keep up with the change.

I’m cool…no flies on me (yet). 

I float along…call me Twiggy.