What is this weakness inside of me?
Yes, I realise I am weak
I realise
I have my limitations
Self, ego
The road is a miracle
It’s dark
I can’t seem to find my way
The older men are nice
They are kind
The men who are
as old as my father
have intellectual discussions with me
The women ignore me
Their laughter tastes like English mustard
That’s all
Decay
That’s all
that’s left of me.
I wait
for the chops
to defrost
on the countertop
growing older
colder, more afraid
in this
a time of questioning
I read my future
Counting my past’s sorrows
Anxiety’s pre-history
Mad with erosion in my soul
I think I understand
your shy tenderness now
The beast
and roots and the powers
of wilderness in you
Poetry is experience
Vertigo taught me that
I think of all my teachers
while the meat turns into metaphor.
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