This Puddle

Sitting here in this puddle
Of persisten, sagely advice--
The dirt under my nails not a symbol, but a birthright.

I fought as hard as them
To get under this gloaming--
The stains on my clothes not a device, but an oversight.

Buckled to my knees, whincing
On all fours, mounting a grin--
My courage spilled before me not as epitaph, but as statagem.

Rising before unfinished eyes,
Mouths forming last regret....
My revival exposed to them not as emblem, but as contemn.

Go on to Human, Being

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