Come, crowd the man who’s never lost a penny
Nor a parent, nor a war.
A dandy-yellow sun bathes me as my
Pregnant lump sweats.
Shackle the word Anxiety.
Relegate the word Depression;
They are offenders themselves.
The perimeters of parties and the
Outcasts of funerals will confirm
Such words are poison unleashed to joy.
Grant me then a pardon from this box
That seeps of purple and noxious air;
Lend me a hand
If you have one to spare.
Lay me down on a field of spikes and laugh.
Find joy in the suffering of men who
Die of words.
Ram your heal down on my back
And laugh the laughter which I had missed
Like a paycheck not cashed—
A number not called.
What’s worthy is unworthy
If you decide it so.
What’s unworthy is worthy
If you decide it so.
Blood blood blood—dance in it
And sing of my death.
Run it beneath your eyes and
Consider me at sunrise.
What are men worth?
A shy man asks.
Tell me.
I ask.
