what
is my fate, what is my rage
what
is the turn wheel of the seasons
that
says reason is the only way to security
as
if freedom were a dependent
with
locked door parents
I
have walled off myself
to
most of the world
as
I do not feel like I fit in
to
anywhere except inside my own mind
and
even here I swear all the time
that
fate is a curse and freewill is
what
I am addicted too
though
I can only delude myself for so long
as
most of you see me as just another poet
who
tries to find a way outside my devices
I
have failed my children
I
have failed my marriage
I
have failed myself
at
the hands of my funhouse humanity
the
slow humid lean of the Sun nearing July
is
pressing against the old glass of a house
that
is not mine to tell me it knows
I
cannot see past my pain
that
I am defined by it
by
its rusted refinement of distrust
I
do not see hope as a future outcome
only
a homelessness and wandering
that
must be close enough
for
even all of you to see
in
my hand lantern swelter
I
need the shelter of a knowledge of nothing
I
need myself to believe I can be something
other
than the ugly voices
that
tell me pretty words to write
that
might cover up the sores
when
I sleep at night
and
tremble past the dreams
I
used to be so sure of
that
are now hollow pointed ghosts
ready
to tear at my flesh
and
give me every reason
to
stop breathing
if
only to have my body
catch
up to the stillness
of
my fearful soul in its cage
EJR
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