Muddy
A Poem
I feel so muddy hands caked with dirt baking in a sun that won’t shine and I have no water nothing to drip into my mouth and onto my hands to make them clean again
This isn’t the mud for a mask, this mud is my mask slathered about my body as a way to entomb myself and cake me in, until this time passes
I feel so muddy because the news is so grimy and it gets between my fingers and toes and dries so perfectly that the cracks seem pristine
This isn’t a regular mud I can’t wash this off in a shower and it never seems to go away tattooed and forever dirty even though all I want is to be clean again
© Jonathan Greene 2020
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