What is this, underwear?
This sudden fragile, antique, ghostly air
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget....
Is this what you’ve gotten from hanging around with poets?
It’s no fun being sat on.
You’re not that much holier than me
And here I am after all these years
Still clinging to the bottom of society.
If I can do it, so can you—
Hang in there!
Don’t give up on this veil of tears
And leave me behind all cold and bare!
Don’t listen to those nightingales—
I need you!
Copyright 2012 by Daniel Veach
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Wear & Tear
The poet to his underwear