In the whirlpools, people puff
and scream for help
The spectators whisper

the last gossip
until the poets hand
shoves them away, looking

for the right tone
He's just messing about
because the Way is the Truth

of all votes against
Everyone gags for meaning
in a livable rhythm

Groaning, I hold on
They are talking about me
I hear it in the breaks

This is how it will go on
with an occasional blow
hoping it is a hit

It is fiddling and tinkering
keep breathing calmly
and not short-circuiting