ON THE WAY

c 2011 Tristan Winter

I used to be ashamed

            of all of you

Friends who died the woman who danced around me like a child

stopping the taxi drivers stopping my breath

The death of my father was a farce scripted by babies

he wanted it that way and they sure ‘nough fell in line

The death of my sister was a charge she had led instead of living

I wonder what is here what

exoneration I might pray

to forgive you all as I’m hefted

aloft in the noose of derision you’ve made

And your coins

They are small after all

            but outweigh me

A monk among priests I can laugh and still find generous room

for the humiliation

you monkeys scream down upon yourselves

To

Day may you devour yourselves with your evil

and forget me forever mad from your triple-decade detestations

I don’t eat much

Bread sometimes, nail soup

occasionaly a hand-painted potato

Golem-eyed I walk odor picnics lizard sweat

The luxury of ticks picking women off me

No one knows I am dreaming now