Side

I have all of my empty pockets

ready for a heavy purse

but the ribbons that tie me down

keep me bound to my curse.

My heaven’s gold is a strand of silk

left over from a temple,

found by the chance of a schoolboy

at the alter of example.

I am a madman laughing at typhoons.

olding

they say a man’s character is his fate

I out-turn empty pockets and say

“you’ve really got me now”

and isn’t it just like the wind to stop blowing?

usefulness

honor

respect

could I be the Ubermensch

and duck under it all?

climb with me to a higher plateau

where we can be dogs in the moonlight

soft glowing silhouettes sheltering secrets

that in 100 years some gravedigger will unearth

wash it with water from a garden hose

and stick in a newer box to keep

our bones will become roots

and web like ancient fingers outspread in sand

they say a man’s fate is character

I out-turn my empty pockets and say

“I was always just a poor boy.”