in preparation for war

Now every night I talk to myself, to the moon, to the stars, to the trees.

I sit on my roof and I face no one because it so much easier than facing people.

I will always say the wrong thing and leave at the wrong time.

You will look at me strange and I will turn red, maybe only on the inside.

On my roof I drag a blanket and I do not have to be happy or be

Valuable or be clever. I throw my masks to the sky, so many masks,

And I laugh as they fall with the stars.

I can walk to the moon, I can take my time.

This world on my roof, this universe accepts my being.

It does not strike me down.