There's no sensation of the shackles of self-immolation
that can keep you from basking in this state of exaltation.

It might feel like they've got you in prison,
oppressed in a cage of sullen isolation
and coated slyly in icy desperation.

But the creative spirit in you cries out for wild expression,
pure wildness, pure soul fury,
of one who runs through the streets screaming, "Ole!"

What a fascinating display you could be
of color, of light, of animation!

I want to know if you can blend a smoothie in that
crazed, cosmic imagination, and drink it dry!