A Prose Poem — Clouds make leopard print patterns on the ocean, claim the sky — blue and white, water and engine — they can have it, I don’t mind — fingers twist thick paper into screwdrivers, nails tap oxygen mask warning sign — I am fraught with frenetic energy, life’s eternal, off-key symphony playing the beat of what you mean to me — how the key changes come so fast — so if I could get this message through — Well,