Why I Stay the Same

It’s a shot to the head that opens/a prefigured hand/that follows through and jabs/looks for an open wound./Start with a fatal blow, keep going./(Take it from there.)/Dawn’s early light in a cell/answers each intrigue/all known business/as the hours pass./It summons up the shadows./I’ve used oceans of green ink trying to explain this./(But not much more.)/Since success depends on the wrist turning/(And not much more.)/I’m free again, I don’t cry any longer/for not being able to make it/to meet you at the station./I fear the stationmaster much more/than I fear meeting you./It’s galling that I’ve had other drinks/because the alcohol explains to every mother’s son/why I stay the same./I pour it from jugs, to lessen the tides/guarantee a better day/in youth’s syrup, with the upper hand./Since I spent more time old, than young/I held the low hand./I’m moving through swarms,sure of my status/I heed the code of my nature/ in the breeze through the grasses.

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