I have been ham handed with so many things lately.
Where did my digits go? My handy opposable thumbs?
If only my hands were actual hams I could have a snack.
Instead, it is my mind that is ham handed,
rushing to conclusions, neglecting details.
I get the tools to fix it –
an icepick, magic mushrooms, that special tea, the pills from the doctor,
all the words I can find to break me down and build me anew –
but I will be left, still here, dulled and hungry.
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