A lovely Twitter follower suggested “worms” as the topic for a sonnet so I obliged.

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They told me you had brain worms. That’s too bad.

You see, I believe in Karma, but don’t judge.

It’s not on me to make sure you are glad.

The One you need’s inside you and won’t budge.

I really wish I could do more to help.

It’s just that I know anything I say

Will have little affect, for we suspect

You already know most everything.

The problem is intractability. Short-circuit.

You simply must be wrong so you can grow

And if you carry on like you are perfect

Then everyone will mock you cause they know

No one is perfect, just immortal souls

And you don’t seem to have yours in control.