when i walk no one cares where i go
i’m as free as a ghost here.
i am unconventionally winged and i have been stuck in amber
three thousand years of fog and sun.
i read of a king. the king of ireland when ireland had kings;
he proved to be persuadable.
it occurs to me that i have worshipped
vice and called it character
attempted alchemical madness
with dylan thomas as defense
and everything i touched permeated
hind sight beholds
the time i’ve spent
tried to defy
there’s nothing to fear any more
(that was not a pretty sight)
what is genuine is much quieter than that
in the middle of the highway it pauses staring
through the night
with wolfish eyes
it’s not nothing.