carry a profound down-ness,
like a burlap bag,
through the sprawling urban
townships,
resilient with a leather-like
toughness,
makes it hard to shake the weight
of struggle,
hanging about in the shadows,
so I'll sit on a bench,
in the summer sun,
try to forget,
try to distract,
get my mind off the constant
gravity,
and mess,
it's dangerous when I put my
pride away,
fall asleep,
too tired to defend myself,
that's the moment when the lion
goes for the neck of the gazelle,
that's the moment when the world
goes for the neck,
I'm helped by vanity,
driven by vanity,
to find meaning,
a creature deserving of meaning?
desiring of meaning?
why do you get meaning?
who said you get to have things
mean something?
I could have died in the Cu Chi
tunnels in 'Nam,
I'm no better,
this profound down-ness,
woven like burlap,
but with the strength of leather,
makes my stomach hurt,
and makes my eyes burn,
hidden behind charm and clean
clothes,
to be carried,
with the strength of my vanity,
this God-given desire to be God,
to ultimately fall short,
but that I tried,
using my full fledged vanity,
to survive the profound pull of
the all natural down-ness.
