The broken heart cries,
Alone...
But leaves visible scars.

"I'm gonna," isn't good enough,
And good enough's not far enough,
And far enough's not near enough
To get us half-way there.
Forget about a song and prayer,
To get us where we need to be,
To where we breathe deep and free.

I was born.
I was born male.
I was born white male.
I was born white, male Caucasian.
I was born white, male Caucasian in a Republic.
I was born white, male, Caucasian, in a First World Republic.
I was born white, male, Caucasian, in a First World Republic,
     in a large, loving family.

I was born white, male, Caucasian, in a First World Republic,
     in a large loving family, and I'll never work as a talking head.
Why, tell me, do all the others have all the luck.

We're in thrall.
Where's your wall?
You dump truck...
You fumb duck...
You other mother...
You worse than senseless thing.

I want to see
your face, your eyes
Through the steam of our coffees
Know
every line
of your smile in sunlight
Trace my words along...
every micro-expression...
Every hint of hesitation
The fault lines
of our desolations
of our hopes

Desire--
of our fears
And, in all our failings
The apology of years