Ever and again, the weather proofing erodes from my armor.
And, I am left with only rust.
A state of vulnerability…nonetheless.
No matter how I clear the track of every obstacle and fuss.
False idols accompanied by menacing medicine men…
Offer up a pack of true lies.
Though, I have never been a saint by anyone’s surmise.
Even my chipped shoulder tenders in their disguise.
The tarnished native naivety around my aches?
Only a means for the scar tissue to keep me upright.
Healing foe are forever in their mechanical forest.
Await, await, await.
Awaiting my guarded departure.
Hazards of needles, placated steriods and placebos…smoke screens for?
I know not what.
Ever and again, I step into the thicket, enduring the cure.