Almost Free

i cannot possibly have as much time left as
i have already wasted, yet you are
so much less imperfect than I ever was

but now they are about to let me free
out of the Tower of London, out of Alcatraz
my days having to please Queen Mary of Scots
my days having to please Al Capone
and all the other fucked up power figures
within iron bars: over—

My arms and legs unchained again,
my brain unwashed,
my brain so dirty.

i can now cure all my pimples at once
or blind every single eye on Earth for that matter,
or go live alone in a Saharan mirage.

i can learn to waltz now,
i can wear the bolo tie,
play the clarinet, eat olives, love you,
flow with the River Nile,
go with the wind,
return with the birds of passage

and now that i am almost free
i want you, i want the ocean
i already want you back.

i cannot possibly have as much time left as
i have already wasted, let me take your hands
and set you free too, let me take you on a picnic

in my (deformed) line of sight,
my (damaged) train of thought
or

my (semi-monastic) home,
where I compare none of my imperfections
to yours

and where all my imperfections are allowed to remain
absolutely unrestrained.