Poem

Tents and Tables

Scarred but not scared,
the mark of a true masochist.
Burnt away the sacred flesh,
blessed in black and white.
Dressed in folded gauze
for the rubber neck world to see;
the lonely ones, locked away.
The matching ones,
oh fucked up day.
Jesus Christ in stone so high
I clean the sewage lined streets with you.
You fucking character
you character in a paper book.
I'll write myself just like you.