Cyclical Mood | Judy Moskowitz

There’s a lump in my throat
With a mind of its own
It stays there gathering angst
Living inside the whim
Of a cyclical mood
When there is nowhere
To go
Hospitality starts to wane
The mattress no longer welcoming
With its curled edges alongside ticking years
Of wear and tear
Another cycle is coming
Will it be a smooth ride
The prancing gait of a thoroughbred
Or a whirlpool of fragmented ideas
Think tank of energy
Weak mind
Strong arms
The cyclical mood
Of an alcoholic binge