Smeared with mango butter, I am a human bagel. Pondering slam and the nature of same.

Small turnout tonight- 5 (count 'em) 5 competing- or was it six? More at the open mike after- I had some old stuff, my weird little poem- (a rewrite)

Too much to say

Wall-hugging fear can bring me down,
not heights, ladders, chain link fences,
or other form of restraint: an inner vacuum
pressure-sealed finger-gripped reality
spits me out of the void onto the bare stage.

Sometimes I see myself slap-stopped
on my knees suppliant to a grain of sand
unable to give in to the radiant glory
distracted past reason by previous life blunders
"You Are What You Think You Are" my mantra, sure.

The chart spikes here: check for numb wrist,
palpable manifestations, anxiety attacking.
I have given you my heart, no take backs.
An admonition: you might have said 'thank you',
even bad news is news, even weather is news.

You can name the clouds like stars, your children
will not believe in what you do, it has always been so;
as unlikely as the poets' Martian rose, renewal
falls in snow flakes on uplifted hands, beautiful,
here and gone before you know you are cold.