More roadkill than prime cut
Cycle of self-deprecation loathing sabotage
and basic mathematics
That comes when a man huddles in his skin
inside a boxcar shivering blanket-less
For hours into days into months into years
into decades
Acceptance, submission, what is, what is not,
these are spiritual tattoos
Maybe inked over, but always there underneath
even if blurred present in the mirage
Of what a man identifies crying heart-broken
emotional starvation
Feeding on crops of poetry, yoga, and books
to survive
No comments:
Post a Comment