I’m stodgy old man, afraid I’ll become a curmudgeon.
I jump to conclusions sanctimonious
that create a consciousness I carry
that smothers the hustle and flow of the Gita.
I’m dug deep, stuck in position—I ain’t budgin’.
To my ego I do harm felonious.
I pray for courage not to tarry,
As I drink my industrial strength Margarita!
O Lord, my awareness bludgeons
my inspiration. It remains parsimonious.
I am emotionally wary,
doomed, Kraft Velveeta.