that requiem to you people

I'm an old owl,
plucked,
compared to what i vibrate for
i'm not one to laugh with casually
please don't laugh at me neither
i'm too often out of place
probably my feelings are too
most of the time
i just want one hears the song in my heart
i think i look like a nefarious, wasteful weed
people see the rust on my skin
and they picture the filth in my brain
i cover them with
my pianist hands hold that filth
the tension of my muscles, my neglect,
that makes me an old pervert
i want to let it go
to be the second worst
behind Bukowski
to let them figure out what they want
to be one in their minds
how to situate myself
that's my problem
what i like is far out of my reach
but i feel that way
i feel that damn way
and nobody sees
there's a loving man inside the hideous beast

that's shit, my body is younger than anyone my age, i'm as vivid as a twenty years old