Know Myself Better

My twisted cry–

The anguished sigh

I breathe into the air

Under a night that darkens

Into the light of the 

Electric lamps which leer 

Over my head,

Oppressive in their place and stature,

Reassuring in their presence…

I do not know the pain 

of the other,

The loner

The tosser 

who sings drunkenly along the 

Walkway, the byways, and

Who crosses every toll-bridge

And passes every entryway 

Without a lonesome coin flipped

To the man who stresses the 

Importance of

“Earning your keep, young man!

Hand over your coin, your check,

Your note, or the lint that lines your 

Scraggly, torn-up pocket–I’ll take

The last of it all, and you can be grateful,

then, and thank me for my kindness

And due diligence.”

My body is tired, my mind is aching

And the shakiness of my timid breath

Leaves its trail as I walk through

The streets towards the next toll–

Little ghost trails, spectre tails and

The ghastly form of a resolute demise.

The hand beckoned forth, then, as I entered the hostel,

The next place that I can rest, and be within closed doors.

I rummaged into my pockets, in my shoes,

Between the failing lining of my coat,

But under my hat, there was the photograph,

Of the friends I used to know:

“Will you take this, keep it close against your chest,

Or the hair of your head? Keep it pressed to you, your body. 

These men carried me across fields, and across the barren wastes

Of a land you have never seen. Will you take this against your body?”

His hand moved to his face, then to my own. He brushed a tear from under

My bloodshot eye, kissed my cheek like the Father to the meek,

and said to me:

“Enter, you are like our own. Your photograph is yours to keep,

And also your coat, your shirt, your trousers and shoes.

Come in, come in, and know yourself better, man.”