Why I Stay The Same

It opens with a shot to the head,/prefigures a hand,/ follows through with a jab/looking for an open wound./You begin with a blow that’s fatal,/then take it from there./It’s the dawn’s early light of the cell/that answers each intrigue/all known business./Before the passing of the hour/it again summons shadow./I’ve used oceans of spent ink/to explicate this much/but no more./Because success depends only on a turn of the wrist/and no more./Again free, I don’t cry any longer/ I can’t make it to meet you at the station./I fear the stationmaster more/ than I fear sitting here./It’s galling that I’ve drunk things/other than alcohol/ that one explains, to every mother’s son/why I stay the same./You put in in a jug,to lessen the tide/guarantee a better day/with youth’s syrup, the upper hand./Seems like I spent all my time old,/ more than young:/ I hold the low hand./I move in a swarm,/sure of my status,/with the code of my nature/breeze through the grass.

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