Burn.
Step onto the embers of my
Secret weaknesses and
Impersonate the
Sword of Michael.

This longing for Valhalla
Won't see me alive much
Longer.
Take me to the nearest battle.
Let me die slaying a terrorist

Or intending ******.
Or should I pray to gods of a more
Peaceful nature than
Odin?
Love and let live.

Nah, this is in my Norwegian
Bones.
I'll die wielding blade.
I'll die laughing, opened up and
Spilling.

I'll "not go gentle into that good
Night."
So burn.
Be bonfire to my innermost of
Darknesses.

There are shadows there that
Demand chasing.
Make me proud to be
Midgardian.
Burst into flames and remind me:

Sticks and stones are feathers.
Buddha and Baldr.
Enlightenment and love. Well,
I'd rather be a warrior in a church
Than a priest in a battle.

Odin's one good eye
Is mine.
The other weeps for the weak.
May they find
Comfort in the daylight,

While us
Others sharpen our
Weathered hearts
In the cold, uncertain night we
Belong to, like water to snow.

don't feel sorry for me.
I am a competent,
satisfied human being.

be sorry for the others
who
fidget
complain

who
constantly
rearrange their
lives
like
furniture.

juggling mates
and
attitudes

their
confusion is
constant

and it will
touch
whoever they
deal with.

beware of them:
one of their
key words is
"love."

and beware those who
only take
instructions from their
God

for they have
failed completely to live their own
lives.

don't feel sorry for me
because I am alone

for even
at the most terrible
moments
humor
is my
companion.

I am a dog walking
backwards

I am a broken
banjo

I am a telephone wire
strung up in
Toledo, Ohio

I am a man
eating a meal
this night
in the month of
September.

put your sympathy
aside.
they say
water held up
Christ:
to come
through
you better be
nearly as
lucky.