If I had to answer

I don't care about you
I don't care about me within your ideas
My human side doesn't care if you live or die or survive
You are fixed people in a fixed time zone in a fixed zip code
with non flesh barb wire around you neck and throat
and you repeat the same patterns of existence for you own benefit
you drop a dollar in the church chest.
and three hundred in the Reno slots
You are shallow and incoherent
intelligence has faded to dust
you have betrayed me.

don't boss me around when I am in pain.
Address me kindly.
don't lie to me with infectious insults
tell me you hate me
you are frightened
you are threatened
you are untrue

you are in permanent withdrawal from risk
you give only within your clan
You sacrifice nothing
not even your own doubts
you shield them behind wooden masks
that your refurbish with sandpaper
I am not you
you are dead to me
leave me alone.



You look for me in Twilight on the captive wings of a dove that will never nuture your innocence. You look for me in vacant shadows or the glance of an eye that whispers solliloquies in the death of the dying, aching night and expect me to resurrect you. The tribal band of the Dakota have stabbed me in the dark numerous times and desires me to submit to their voiceless consciousness of lies, betrayal and hurt. I will no longer listen. I see the parameters of their short term personality and foolish gratitude coupled with anomosity. She is sick, she is old. She once gave me a memorabilia. I will remember her in better times before friendship had a price and love had a limit. Her daughter is guarded and selfish, a permanent trait crossed over the line of her face with short indentations across her skin misrepresenting truth. Her love line and truth line are short traces of fade on her palm. She cannot give 1/4 inch more than what she can receive. It is an effort to be nice, to repeat speech patterns of kind gestures that are meaningless. She has left me in exile and I only have God to pull me out of it. She has silently ostracized my return - put a stamp of disapproval over my plans. She is dead in the dead of winter, a cold glance in the bounty of spring. She has destroyed my virgin memories.