Greensleeves

I don’t want your dollar sign,

I’ve travelled halfway around the world, trying

to get the smell of green weave off of my hands.

When I pass the trees, I try to rub as many leaves

as I can, sometimes, I pick up stones, just to feel

the grit on my hands, because the clean I can’t take

how clean everything is.   And inside is dirty.  This world is a hypocrite,

the lights telling you it’s always daytime when it’s not,

the straight roads trying to deny the interwoven textures of

God as patched onto dirt and rocks you’re sexy but you’ve got

so much so much makeup,

I’m not sure what’s you and what’s made up,

Your face is a pyramid scheme, your conscious clothing,

Trying to please,

Like a politician, please, plastic surgery, they act like the world

needs plastic surgery, straighten it out with concrete and golf greens

I think I need to climb up a tree and read like I did as a boy

When the purple “glue flowers” fell from the tree,

And I feel I’m stuck, I feel I’m sticking,

A needle carving the same vein old repeat,

My profane livéd liturgy.

You need to understand I will never be your prince or saint,

You can think what you want, but you can’t think that about me,

Sure, with a flash bulb and maybe some paint you could erase

the pimples and lines on my hands and face,

But that picture would only do me disgrace,
I’m a man, please don’t forget that,
I’m a man trying to be a boy again,

A boy trying to convince someone he’s a man.