10.) My boots have holes in them. I can ascertain that I have walked thousands of miles in my mere 30 years, but set a holed boot upon another continent, I have not.
9.) My world values mad, greedy men. Lays down ultimatums for the brave. I can not recall when last I felt summoned to valor by the motioning of a human hand.
8.) I have weak eyes, thin blood, thin skin, a curmudgeon mind. Brooding through nights when I should be sleeping.
6.) A lack of want for money but I require it. It is a need I would have never chosen… Is that not what a burden is?
5.) The Pacific belongs to the Polynesians, but she is losing them. Ethno-botanical evidence, and haunting songs, are proof enough to me that I can never house in my chambers the Pacific waters as they once had. I but barely can cup her cheek, and like other paramours I know she’ll slip, pull free. It is not her freedom I mourn (I worship that), but that I can not speak her language; that I am unable to understand the nuances in her waves.
4.) I have a mother. I have a father. That I was not sprung from the dirt, laced together with silver chain and string, tied at both ends.
3.) Pollution. Corruption. Resignation. Evocations of
2.) suicides that did not succeed, psychomotor seizures that caused my legs to thrash against walls, restraints, and ceilings, hundreds of dead stingrays littering the egg white beaches of the Gulf of Mexico, and me alone, with an inadequate coat, in the Great Lakes late January cold.
1.) That there is a purpose to my grieving.
0.) My resentment. My love. Oh my love.