13th Man
I smell dirt and flowers
as men hang nailed in blood.
a wanton feast,
mouths gave audience to
field wine in dusted bottles.
Birds of wisdom,
wings in salt,
I stand the unwelcomed
I cannot walk in this hunger nor do I seek pity,
this path shows me how rough my hands are
and how weak my faith.
I decided not to burden myself and so
I walk behind people.
are these nails in my flesh or is this blood nothing
more but sweat and tear.
at last art imitates life.
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