what's your greatest weakness when writing poetry?

( After Elizabeth Bishop )              
               
             —for Clewless and those suffering anxiety                
               
Poison oak grows beautiful on the vine
its lush leaves inviting to the touch,
think of this as life, at times: biting.
 
Behind that velvet green lies a subtle itch—
its urushiol blood birthing blisters that will not last,
yet, stake their claim in pain nonetheless.
 
For everything there is something—
nature ensures that,  Calamine eases
the stinging of rash, Moringa a restless fever.
 
For everything there is something—
including that wasp’s nest expanding its hive
in your chest, the heart now a mangled roost;
 
your bloodstream, an angry swarm of drones
stampeding from all contact, seeking survival
in pocketed passages of isolated capillaries.
 
For everything there is something—
brown bag of L-theanine curbing hyperventilation
of your vascular organ, balancing blood pressure;
 
Passionflower hypnotizing nervousness into submission,
Lavender’s anti-inflammatory Shamans
sacredly shrouding fathoms of doubt with scent.
 
For everything there is something—
Nature being the conduit, soiled hands
embracing her thick trunk, bare feet
 
sinking into dirt and grass, breathing in time
with her natural algorithm, whispering,
“Think on this little exercise—repeat:
 
For everything there is something;
emotional uprisings are defeated by relief;
its war party poised to strike any given moment.”              
~