just a touch of variance
 
and then suddenly you find that
the doors are shutting quietly
one by one.
 
certain conversations you used to have,
types of people you'd find yourself
talking to,
 
a few too many blinks of the eye
and whole landscapes are now
taboo,
the reindeer games are
reserved,
 
nothing said openly
because they'll never dare to
be that bold
but moses didn't have
a firmer hand.
 
dust to dust,
return home,
fringe elements we were
and are
and always shall be.
 
my fingernails
are scraping
along the ledges of their oases
and my eyes skitter across
the detritus.
 
for simplicity's sake
i should finish the job
and return to exile,
but i fear my mind
would not survive the strain
this time around.
 
it's me against the world,
literally.
this time i won't sacrifice my life
for theirs.
 
i need to stand for myself
and be strong
but i'm so fucking tired.
 
it's a wall of wind
i'm facing in a ravine.

Scott Taylor

If you have any thoughts about this poem, Scott Taylor would be pleased to hear them