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Inner Echoes of My Man-Ness

Inner Echoes of My Man-Ness

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Published by ScotEritemu
A poetic mix
A poetic mix

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Published by: ScotEritemu on Mar 14, 2011
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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There are certain days when I'm not myself; I am him in those days, wise and detached, alien to their human and full of a self esteem that is not mine. Those are my best days. As a little boy I had nodreams and no thoughts of tomorrow, just visions of blank white boards, a white piece of chalk and aleaky roof. Those days are gone.How did I become this man? I often ask; a lover of words and naked flesh, hater of some unknownby most, humility's son too quick to boast. I guess I'll never know. But I do Know that I am notmyself, for who I am cannot be this; thoughtful, unassuming and slow to speak. And for this reasononly, I make this entry, for lately silence has become my vice. These words are not mine, they aremy man's, and I the boy may not decipher.Do you ever think about what life would look like at the bottom of the lagoon? I do, every time I crossthe bridge. I also think about the stars, and what they would look like up-close. But lately mythoughts are filled with women, black naked women with breasts the size of lemons and plum applebums; soft to squeeze and beautiful to hold.
A few months ago I wrote a poem. A friend of mine thought it a work of cheer brilliance, I think youmight too, even though my words were utter foolishness.NAKED THOUGHTS (A poem by Scot Eritemu)Go beyond me please if you mustAnd let thy shadow reveal the naked thoughts beneath thy selfish quiltI am human for that I hold no guiltNor show remorse for all the loss my aching imperfection has wroughtcontinue you must; do not linger in your knowing stareAbsorb the Christ and let his Spirit fill your eyesEmbrace your thighs, ignore the feelings though they riseThey televise, radiorize and printisize;along the streets, beneath the bridges and eye the skiesBut I am human and unlike you men,Their holy beats doth seldom move my feetNor does Valhalla; that celestial bonk of bloody mirthits crowded stench would make me puke and suffocateA hall of surly armpits and desert breathesA coward I'll be than such fate on glorious deathSay not Nirvana; that quiet bliss in timeless soundA yawn or two, a fart released, a snoring soundFor if angels may admire the tender fruits that grace my feetHow dare this man refuse a bite for unknown delight?Hear these words from a common manThere is no end, nay only doomWhere concrete lies in sandy ruinsAnd a loony Max rebels on desert dunesAgainst one eyed tyrants of water blocksWhen gothic rock becomes the bluesAnd limousines forget their useDust I become, soon after that breatheMy wrongs already paid for in my loss

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Carl F Maulbeck added this note
there is no shame in being human - "Dust I become, soon after that breathe / My wrongs already paid for in my loss" - very good, scot
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