13th Man

I smell dirt and flowers as men hang nailed in blood. a wanton feast, mouths gave audience to field wine in dusted bottles. Birds of wisdom, wings in salt, I stand the unwelcomed I cannot walk in this hunger nor do I seek pity, this path shows me how rough my hands are and how weak my faith. I decided not to burden myself and so I walk behind people. are these nails in my flesh or is this blood nothing more but sweat and tear. at last art imitates life.