A fugitive in a land of ciphers
I am that gift wholly unasked for
And so confounding that only a closet
Can address its specific concerns.
To what end do I aspire?
When there are so many
And I am only one person.
In what passage must
I sweep my inestimable girth?
By what sorcery do I
Once so voluptuous
Become flat and hard
Like the sides of an old shoe box.
Grey is diminutive
And my heart grows flaccid
For its relentless occupation.
Can a man truly prefer sadness?
Or am I simply incapable
Of the alternative?
Tears cannot be purged
Unless they fall but for how long
Will I leak and will there come
A time when all that discarded salt
Serves to keep the demons
From entering in the first place?