the pay is good, even when i shovel garbage;
ever-stinking and sometimes a body part.
the thrill is not there.

my thrill is the Other; it's there that i find
a meaning. for without others we stand alone;
to smile into no mirror.

a darkness stares back carrying on it's wings of ignorance,
a devasting injury: hurt.

lo the anger, subsumed as pain spews forth aphorisms
of fret, worry. loss.

all of the right done wrongly shortens my lease
on caring about the other;

and i carry the burden of hurt, that goes deeply
into my being, slowly consumes my soul.

09/06/2011

Posted on 09/06/2011
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