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,
it's dangerous when I put my pride away,
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.