The Naked Not the Dead

September 4

The Naked Not the Dead

Because comfort is sometimes no comfort I can shave my hair and walk bare in the naked world. Removing pretense helps in unexpected ways. Foolish action becomes formulaic when you are scared or hurt. I lived through the summers of blood; the winter is not enough to stem the tide or heal the wound. I have no want to raise the dead, but how to save the living? Poverty is the inheritance of so much misguided lethargy and I must shear off the illusion of maturity and let the children speak.

Bury pettiness in an unmarked grave

*

WHINING BRATS

Some days whining brats come at me from all directions

And my hair won’t curl,

Apathy chases me around the house.

I wonder how it has more energy than I do.

My mind twists into a wrinkled mess

I drag my good foot and hop on the bad one.

And even on those days I still rather be me.

I never long to be the innocent victim

Or spiritual leader, the tough guy or the Ph D.

No matter how bad it gets

Or what the struggle is

There is no place sweeter than in my head.

Many are the days I wished not to exist at all

But never to shuck my skin

for the skin of another.

.

Now that I manage breathe right

And to face each day with cheer

I know it was almost worth it

And might be worth it yet.