I'm not sure why any of us is here;
Why a woman behind me cackles at the dates above my elbows
Why people feel superior to the rest,
Why physicality meets priority,
Why tears flee from our sinking shadows.
I have dirt under my nails
Digging for an answer,
A lost cause foreseen.
At least I tried to understand
A moment's peak in you,
Someone whose fingernails are still clean.
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I wrote this poem while traveling the country in July 2015. I was in a stranger's house somewhere outside of San Francisco.