A basic Savagery

I once wrote a poem
That I thought was of me
A song of myself
A person to be

But upon further inspection
And deeper reflection
It came to the surface that alone
Is not to be

In fact to find alone is not to be
And not not to be
But not to see
Not to hear not to feel
Not to want
But dark

For to be is the inverse of me
It is, fact, the we

I saw it creeping through the black
Leaving behind a golden track

It still reminds me
From under the rock
From under the shade and
The safety and security and hate and cynicism

Every once in awhile
It comes to the party in a black cocktail dress
Showing just enough leg…

Just enough to wonder what’s beyond
But Christ we all know what’s there
“Why yes I know him
Indeed, the thickest of skins
A real man’s man
Oh What a deer
Vest he is wearing…”

I saw it creeping through the black
Leaving behind a Golden TRACK

A hunter, a gatherer, an assimilator are they
A curdling crisp air built in a flood plaine
THOMAS what a coincidence a derivative
Of the word and of the paine

The inverse of me
Is we
Without we cannot be
The inverse of me