by Djelloul Marbrook
Stuff the mailboxes and night repositories
against my attempts to insert
flat evidence of my belonging here.
I'm as sick of wanting to get in
as I am of wanting to be heard.
I was born with one of those faces that say
Trust me, you don't want to hear it.
Bad enough listening to myself,
who needs you to confirm the news?
My climate's not suitable for growing
the fruit expected of your tree
and I see you have no patience for experiment.
I've misunderstood great men in useful ways
in the natural course of an alien life,
so why would I quarrel with locked doors?
Last updated September 16, 2011