I was wronged by fate (or so it seemed)

clocked at over fifty mph.

Bored by books that weren’t so byzantine,

lunged at by the world.

I am wrenched from day to day on knotted string;

hollowed like a tree.

Corralled in a hangar and left to run around,

furrowed and gutted and stir-crazy.

I will be crushed by closing chords,

flourished by monkeys, traitors to their breed.

Besotted with science, with stars and the like

Honed in on nothing but fame.