I’m drowning in a white man!
Can’t breathe.
Chest is caving.
What I wouldn’t give for a pipe
and some cold air.
Bring on dry land and the sound
of singers and a big, solid drum.
What I wouldn’t give for firm tradition
to hang onto while cousins
pull me up and in!
But, not likely.
I’ll have to grow
thin white gills and survive,
if not thrive. I won’t thrive —
no. What I could give
to thrive, I will not give.
Dark Matter 