Hill homes and cars and a place in front,
we run a race I lost at birth
with house wheels and buses.
I cross the line
to stand in dingy dark, cast by prestige.
What then do I have with iron in my mouth,
back bent with work and eyes broken
by candle now?
A hard tongue, hard body, hard eyes, I’m adamantine!
Soft insides do not -- can not -- live across this line.
Recognize me, recognize me, recognize me –
I wear your pelts, speak your words,
I am too icy and cold and cool,
no one can see how empty, how hollow
words have made me,
now that I have been defined.
Recognize me – I don’t grow back
As it is said, it was bliss.
Now that I learned it away --
God! do I wish it back.
I want it back, returned, back:
my dirt, my home, my stupidity.
My kind, my kind-less kind,
do not win gold, nor silver nor bronze.
I have crossed the line
to no applause.
What then do I have?