I am
burning in hell
some place north of Mexico.
flowers don’t grow here.

I am not like
other people
other people are like
other people.

they are all alike:
joining
grouping
huddling
they are both
gleeful and content
and i am
burning in hell.

my heart is a thousand years old
I am not like
other people.
I’d die on their picnic grounds
smothered by their flags
slugged by their songs
unloved by their soldiers
gored by their humor
murdered by their concern.

I am not like
other people.
I am
burning in hell.

the hell of
myself.