Persona Non Grata

I’m a midnight baker, a disgruntled vet,

a notch in the wall, a horny pet,

a drug deal gone bad, a ten dollar whore,

a preacher of poison, a creaky wood floor.

 

I’m careless with every sense of the word,

I couldn’t care less, or if you prefer,

I could care less, if you don’t know your shit.

Snort a second line of untapped spirit.

 

I’m a hot cup of coffee you spill on your crotch,

faux muddy jeans that cost too much,

a teenager waiting for blood to run,

the clean-shaved beaver of a fresh young nun.

 

I’m a self-centered egoist playing with words,

abating preference, embrace the absurd,

flinging feces from a flesh-barred cage,

spiritually bankrupt, a thought pauper sage.

 

I’m the voice between the lines, the one you overlook,

A child, a tree, a cardboard plea, an attic of yearbooks,

A sex-crazed crossdresser, a fragrance in the breeze,

I’m everything in one, I’m anything but me.