Pudgy Indian

Sometimes
I am a nothing.
Sometimes
I am as much as a
piece of shit.
Sometimes
I am 220 pounds of ugly.
Sometimes
I want to stop breathing.
Sometimes
I want to go home.
But I don't get to go home.
I have no home.
Sometimes
my boundaries are torn down
by silent tornado winds
who in dreams
show me they have shoved
tons of debris through my soul
and laugh at my agony...
Laughter and silence.
Sometimes
I am the tree
with record albums and hay
shoved through it trunks.
Sometimes
I am a tree
filled with millions of nails,
termites and woodpeckers.
Sometimes
my boundaries are gone.
Sometimes
the fence posts
and wooden slats
are thrown about
by silent hurricanes
that I try to ignore
because I tire of the hurt.
Sometimes
I want to smoke cigars at sweats
where there are no fires
no stones
no willow branches
bent by hands and thighs.
Sometimes
I want to lay in the meadow
of a hill
and pretend...
Sometimes
everything hurts.
and Not being able to go home
hurts
and breathing
hurts
and I don't have a home hurts
and 40+ more years of hurt...
Sometimes
the hurt
is just on the otherside
of the fence
and he walks the fence with me
and I hear him
because he carries a stick
and lets it smack
between the slats
and he walks the fenceline with me
just on the other side
until there is no more fence.
Sometimes
I want to be free
but I don't know how...
hurt is my shadow
and the sun is high.
Sometimes
I know tomorrow is another day
and I just might wake up
and the fence will be there
and maybe I'll walk away from it for a while
until I come full circle
and find myself on the other side.
Sometimes
I can pretend it's not there.
Sometimes
I feel good.
Sometimes
I laugh.
Sometimes
I dance.
Sometimes
all I want to do
is breathe.
Sometimes...
all I want to do
...


is cry