"I've never been a man"

On May Day 2006
In Findlay Ohio, where the roads are uneven with dust. My cheeks are sore, but not from the sunburn flush my face.
I want to be able to be angry again.
Here your servant was sent out amongst them. The Separation from the Sword doesn't intend
Departure from the World. No, we are safe in our Bubble, in our troublesome days; the Orb does protect our way from all but Stones of compassion and trust.
The music in his ear is partly mine; I'm a drop of a note, a ceasura, over Ropp's pit infinite
in its Sunday night TV.
We are sure of our hope, on these gravel-topped roads, of Reasons, not scapegots, to unload the rites of Spring and Ribbons and uncovered sores. The Face meets the Face in noodle-based plates, and desire unsated to melt with the grass at last runs mimetically wild.
In Bluffton, Ohio, the music was played, the standard was raised to dance around...we sang of the new earth, new grounds, bearing us. The greetings were made, the skin's limit was breached--oh, the touch reached us deeply apart from the curse.
The reason it hurts is unexercised joy