The sweat gathers between my thighs,
Juggling boxes of precious posessions
That don't fit in your museum of taste.
My back aches as the refuse of who I once was
Is sent to pollute landfils.
I pray at the altars of correct behavior
And perfect adornments
As you dance with your consort
And forget your faithful follower.
Incense never burns at the temple
Of the forgotten God.