The feeling comes of being clothed
within another person’s poisoned skin.
Stepping out with them makes
me wear their mantle, their overall.
Robed ‘n’ dressed into a life that restrains,
I do not wish to wear such garments.
Spending too long with the shadow puppets who
ply their toxic life to my soulful play.
Come, shun the human fallout, and rejoice
in the sun of glorious hearty ruminations;
gleam in the sun of shunned garments,
seeming in the good of gunned sharments.
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