No helping who I am, like
the sun can’t help but shine
Yet at times clouds block the sun, and
often I get in my own way–
of being who I am
Are you like me?
Do you sometimes wake up, and fall over
the life you’ve worked so hard to create?
Watching the morning creep into the back woods
I wondered “why am I here?”–
Not in this chair in this room on this morning, but
HERE in this body and mind, and
HERE in this illusion of permanence, that
I wear like a hat pulled down over my eyes–
so I have an excuse for walking into walls, and
falling down stairs–into a basement, where
I’ve dumped everything I can’t let go of, including
piles of hats no longer fitting my fat head
which fills with new illusions each day, making
my head grow larger and larger
Aren’t there limits to how big a head can grow?
Poetic Alchemist 
Almost no limit
And in this I’m just like you
HERE new illusions