what is it that I feel
like my clean skin covers
some evil born on the
wrong side of the tracks?
was innocence robbed of me
too early and the carnal
knowledge of life
ingrained too young?
I, too, long for god but meet instead
my own crassness, reflected in the
eyes of other raw souls. the people
I love hold no pretense at being
good and pure. I find depth in
their truthfulness, and no truth of
depth in the holy ones. the cynical
love me, finding recognition of
one like themselves
our optimism lies in
life smelling as it smells
and feeling as it feels
the delicate and the gross
dance together, which is
fine with me. I only hope
that in times of weakness
my sense of humor
carries me through