If all I ever get to do in this world is breathe
I guess that is good enough for the likes of me
If all I ever accomplish is learn to smile
I guess that is the best gift that I can offer
Yet even in the breathing and smiling I wreak
I spin unwanted curses and dead things into motion
From the imaginary to the gray matter to the otherworldly
Places too bright and shimmery for the likes of me
So I hover in time softened hovels with guilt red bricks
And shame grey sandstone, covering my head with
too long grimy hands, gnarled by wind and sun and rain
I long for a stronger lungs, access to less perverted oxygen
and then like the softest tear falling down the youngest cheek
That sound. Sweet. Pure. Alive. Warm. Strong. Free.
I am cleaned by words, the likes of me.