the wonderful thing about Tiggers

Saber tooth

worries stalk me

circling my perimeter day after day

–kept at busy’s bay–

they attack from tusk to dawn

chewing up my insides,

and scoring through my outsides,

and second-guessing decides,

they pack with wild bore’s

–the kill of which

often renders them one and the same–

all the while

caveman cackling

maniacally from a distance

–disturbing chorus pitched particular to my frequency–

and though I gird myself

and guard myself,

and run myself

and from myself,

–all quest for safe haven

returns

–on silent pause–

to me.