Sometimes I wonder if the only gun to my head is civility
Is it wild to be domesticated
or free to be mild
who can know what’s in another’s mind
I can’t play to their whims and dimes
I don’t have the patience or the time
one minute, everyone is fine
the next, a man is threatening you with a knife
and sometimes I wonder if the reflection in that silver
is a man waiting to fight back or surrender
could I be that madman you all talk about
bending to nature
as if his memories hadn’t been erased
therefore, he still knew he was as tree as green should be
nurture intending him to root and roost.