wintering

there's nothing really happening
everything is just a softening

inside a 32 inch cage a clock ticks on in emptiness
and deep within
where fears begin
and all men ruin  
a bird hatches a fever breaks a mother shakes

Being treated lowly hurts a lot
They claimed to own me - they do not
they only found a way to anger me
but i don't give anger power over me

No vice nor virtue can define me
I control my own sweet destiny
they can't predict my sideways action
in strife, I strafe & keep on laughing

If simple fear could drive me batty
I'd be sipping tall boys with the natties
in other words, I'd still be where I came from

No one can control my tongue nor bic
as long as ink and blood have flick
hydrant of life and spark of wit
toward audience I dare remit
my coarsest verse & will posit
my worst thought crimes upon this page

There's nothing really happening
Everything is just a softening

I like to hide out in the places
between where I exist
and where I do not

I am a fine structure
one in one hundred thirty seven
there's nothing really happening
everything is just a softening

so cold, so cold.