The Tree and The Man Nailed To It by Gabriel Gadfly →

gabrielgadfly:

You keep asking strangers
to nail your hands to trees.

You ask them to lick the blood
and the rust from your palms,
from the crooks of your arms.
You ask them to teach you
everything the world knows,
you ask them to teach you
the quiet of the spinning earth
but you hang in the sun,
and you learn nothing.

You are rolling your eyes
at the sky, thirsting.
You are drying up
and I would bring you cold water
if I thought you’d drink.

I’d wrench the nails out
and pull you back down,
I’d bathe you and bandage you
and kiss the sunburns
on the lids of your eyes,
but I know where you’d end up:
clean a week or a month
and then back at your spindly tree,
back to begging strangers
to nail your hands to the limbs,
and I cannot help you this time.

This poem © Gabriel Gadfly. Published May 30, 2012

2 hours ago  /  Source: gabrielgadfly.com