The sage scholar that intimidates (or so
I've been told) so many I have met with all
I know--art and science and philosophy.
I've carved out this mask.
A small part of me, I reckon's still up in
The green hills--Kentucky where I'm still laid back,
Where jokes jump more freely, friendly from my tongue.
The South made this mask.
Can you not see I am right? I argue with
And quick-question people who I know and meet--
This love lives in me, unpleasant though it seems.
My least pleasant mask.
My brain's wired autistically--do not expect
A good memory to shop or for a name--
I can't feel the same as you--the world's intense.
My gene/brain-made mask.
My art aims for beauty--All my poetry,
And plays, novels--I transform to beauty words
Through sounds, rhythms, symbols, and in images.
Descent gave this mask.
A dark hermit here in my library-cave.
I read, study, write, and think--alone. I make
In home-quiet spaces, decompress from life.
A need-daily mask.
I love, think of, love to spoil the ones I love--
My wife, children--I make them feel all the love
I feel--more than anyone could ever love.
Why not see this mask?
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