Monday, November 16, 2009


Every day hands cripple more,
Soon I won’t eat in finer places…
Nor point to the menu with a fist,
Amusing discriminating faces.

People ignore deformities,
But behind my back they’ll talk,
The volume is getting louder,
As it affects the way I walk.

Still the clock keeps ticking,
Rusty’s face, a mask of gray.
We are tethered to the time clock,
While life’s mobility, ebbs away.

How hard to imagine multiple fates,
Incorrigible scar tissue,
Be it of the hands or heart,
They all become one issue.

Freedom won by circumstance,
For any reason you’re unleashed,
Should well be celebrated,
If alive or just deceased.

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