Nimbus

slowly I've leaned
to be comfortable in my own
sweat and stink, my body
not much else is really mine
the way I act is a practice
to replicate the things I've seen other people do
the language I use is a prop gun
loaded with social ques
and cultures a time lapse aggregate
of hundreds of them
bleeding together
for thousands of years
and the remainder of the equation
of our history
I am the product
of a nimbus cloud

I am the product
of the thunder head storm of humanity
I only borrow the way
the pieces string together
to make my meaning
electricity in the air
but I own my sweat and stink
the animal that is me doesn't care
about tempering the crowd no
I'm not concerned with
being subtle
I let myself struggle out loud

salty and savage
social anxiety had no bearing
on my behavior
do you remember that night of course you do
I wouldn't stop laughing
you were worried
I ripped my shirt off when it stated raining
the one you brought 3 years ago in Mexico
I was drunk and
I was still picking the words to borrow
for the song I sang that night
I woke the neighbors
to the sound of thunder

that night I studied
the slow suicide we call
a long, healthy life
the lesson was in all the little deaths
along the way
they opened their windows and yelled
as the sirens blared I ran
finally comfortable in my sweat and stink, my body
I wouldn't stop laughing

deconstruct down to symbols
like do you care which side right or left?
deconstruct my performance
like is this invention or is it theft?
In between I find only mistakes
I waded through the rubble
of my mistakes
certain only of the sweat and stink
that brought me there to make them
deconstruct enough to sit me beside
my former self
find compassion for him
and resign him to the nimbus cloud
keeping only what is really mine

I never recovered the shirt
when I went back to look for it
the next day
I never really cared the way people
looked at me funny
when I searched
slowly I learned
to accept the loss of what was
never really mine in the first place
gifted by the nimbus
temporarily

this isn't a funny way to say
I'm sorry
this is a mistake acknowledged
so emblematic of an era
where I would strive to feel
the rough edges of rock bottom
for one or two nights a week
the animal that is me
still revels in glands and fluids
but I delight in the wisdom
I don't need so much booze
to do it
I still celebrate my
impermanence
in the thunder in my voice
I still celebrate my body
until I have to give it back

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