Mojo Hand

Going around and around in circles, Trying to break free ... but no direction insight. Sitting typing words into glowing embers of phosphorus, instead of singing my stories across a fire, into the rising smoke. I need a mojo hand I need a power that has slipped away from me again. I need an analogy that will let me describe why I am lost. I am trying to sing the blues in a sensory deprivation chamber. I am trying to write an epic in sound bites. I am trying to capture emotion in magnetic pulses. It feels wrong. Have my synapses been eroded by chemicals? Or have they never really been there? I seem to remember being close, but I can only remember the sensation with longing. I remember cultivating dithyrambs like wildflowers, but now I can’t get past the serried rows of tulips ... all alike, all alike.