Profligate
#poetry #yearofprophecies

Deep in the mud, in the murk, in the sewers.
Sharing convivially with cast out pests.
Biased by looking forward to avoid looking up;
sick of the sight.
Mining waste of unappealing lives.
Getting by surprisingly well on the barest belief.
It’s not thievery to see value in what sin
has left behind,
sensing like one blind to glamour’s fads.
Dancing along backbrains, pleasure neurons,
bodies ache to expand.
I carry no allegiance — this land, this opportunity
to breathe — what do you want of me?
I am only a slave if I care.
Take the best of me
if you dare.