Missile of a Spirit

There is no help for it, I have to admit
attempting to exist in a somnambulistic
state of spiritual bliss is not working any
better than a state of arrogant happiness

I tried to preserve my peaceful state of mind
by tippy-toeing around things that irk me from
time to time, spent the evenings lying in your
lap in front of the TV, smiling in vacant apathy
hoping dutifulness will carry me right through
my morbid document

No such luck, already the chains of reality are
strangling my spirit, I need a change of mind –
right to my underground aggressive state – to
carry me through the smallness of my life, I
have to find a grand vision, inflate my soul
with the fantasy of a grand mission

Just being a government official who cannot
fly as Douglas Adams described Arthur could
like Angela Langsbury does in Bedknobs and
Broomsticks, like Esmerelda Weatherwax
in Witches Abroad, like Mary Poppins
does all the time

Is not good enough for my adventure-
loving, challenge-seeking missile of
a spirit, sitting here is like
being buried alive...