Peace external to the mind as a pinball bounces off bumpers; evade of your own inertia, the places you’d rather not go, you grand polished silver orb you.
Chagall 2017
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Alphabet City 
Are you talking about me by any chance?
Actually, no. Why would you think that?
The poem is actually about me, finding it easy to “alight on right mind,” which was the original first line, realizing I simply had to avoid “wrong mind,” as a pinball would in its travels through the bumpers. The pinball/person – anyone in the abstract then who makes a similar journey – become one in the image of the poem. I am happy that it resonated with you enough that you thought it was about you.