The Plea

Strange how
They speak to me now
With rue of lost forgotten eyelids
No sleep for those who worry or hurry

Like I’m not sitting here
Smiling and nodding
And understanding
They’re so proud, I know
But my words are drowned by the subtle pooling
Of dark tinctures of past retooling
Destroying, rearranging and redeploying
That have made me the poet becoming
In dark balance with the boy unbecoming

I need somebody’s loving
For there is no sleep for those who know they’re winning
I need to be cut down,
Fondly
To be revised, demolished, mixed up
And reassigned
Not by my fecund Mother
But by someone as scared and alone as I

As only I can be
When my mentors just don’t get me

It’s strange now
That no one sees the tapestry
Of my breathing and
My believing

I only seek to share
But who will be there?