Poem: In His Room

Brian Wilson in his sandbox, making art. The grit between his toes calms the flitters in his heart, at least momentarily. Tearily, he’ll circle Gershwin, wash through Mozart, change lanes to get ahead of McCartney. Smartly, he goes

wherever his mind takes him. Sadly, that’s far too many places. But we get round, round, get around, we get around and stamp…