lump on a log

I am a bullfrog catching flies and asking for signs

The flies are the signs

Or maybe the asking itself

Darting and accusing eyes

Lately, I’d do anything to shed this skin 

or dive into someone else's deep waters

Yellowing teeth, I look in the mirror and feign a smile

But it’s too late, my face is a constant pout

A gullet full of sorrow

I’ve let my complaints take the place of all my wonder

And reduced myself to a lump on a log