I'm a lone stranger
Drawing closer to death
With fragments of solidarity
And sour scent of cream and of birth

I'm a forlorn stranger
In a world born of death
So birth contemplates soil
Of elevated heavens and depressed hell

I'm a lowborn stranger
With dark little poems and noble anger
My body and soul
Are of salt and dust
And to my fall
Comes my elevated call
Of heathens and evanescence

I'm a lost stranger
Without memory of reminiscence
I open my mouth
With voice frozen on girth
And only my last breath…
Speaks louder than my birth

I'm a torn stranger
With a hat and a soul
A boot and a craw
What else…
Is there to know