for a poem
to be itchy
it must be
a flea,
Socrates
proposed gnats
those hurting
biting gnats
when i first read it
in the dialogues
courtesy of Plato
i felt
this cow in me
coward,
cow-pea, cowed
in a
barn
milked like
a woman
i dread that
feeling
but it is
real
that i begin
to moooo
nonetheless
i cannot help
but just be back
into a
man without
use to
anyone
in my own chosen
freedom
there is Socrates
with all his dignity
intact
who did not get to be
old enough
to really
befriend death
i too propose
gnats, and fleas
and
lice
suckers of wisdom
from the
head of this
universe
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem