Song of Lyric Geography

It consists of cliffs and plateaus—

The lyric life I chose.

In the worst phase, I know

Each desperate word

Is only a handhold

And there’s a sheer fall below.

In the other, the pressure’s

Suddenly gone,

And I stroll along

As calm phrases unfold;

Soon, I’ve become deluded—

My guard’s down

And I’m convinced

It will always be like this:

A steady catalogue

Of my hard-earned bliss.

That’s when it opens

Beneath my feet—recurrent abyss.