alcoholic

When you go to where the
disjointed, sandy mass
meets the sea of rage and power
and stand in the moonlit precipice
of night and day.
A lone car pulls to the side, watches
for vulnerability.
But I stand tall and proud
and the rock in my hand
says no to this stranger, boy.
The starlight on my back
powers a years long hatred
of the young ones, the short haired
barbarians that take what is not theirs.
My throat is indignant
at your weak and unjustified
existence,
boy.

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