To Valerie

Paranoia, thy name is Valerie My buried bones you've bared. My skeleton is out of the bag And my cat is out of the closet. I feel exposed to the discernment of a despot. I cannot hide, cannot secrete, cannot cover my shame. My guilt en-clothes me And remorse envelopes me like a shroud. I wish for the cloths of Heaven But get only the habiliments of a mendicant. I long for the raiment of a royal But I'm clad in the rags of a ruminant. All that glitters isn't gold And all that reeks isn't excretia. So I'll stand on my purloined principles And lament my lack of laurels. Like Sisyphus seeking his summit Or a Prometheus that forgot his fire. But I'll insist on my fated freedom Like the bird on the wire, or the drunk in a midnight choir, I have tried, in my way, to be free.