Shaman

by Thomas Piekarski

I’m truth serum injected into your big tantalizing eyes.
I’m radical to the degree I expect every moon will rise.
I’m possessor of expertise, but not intending to be rude.
I’m pariah on the fringe some might well consider lewd.
I’m an answer to your prayers if religion is factored out.
I’m immensely proud of my country, yet it’s you I tout.
I’m wont to keep secret the source of my impish pride.
I’m not accountable to anyone except that genie I ride.
I’m focused on you from way up here, watch you bleed.
I’m venturing outside my world only upon urgent need.
I’m aware of what you’re up to, which makes me glow.
I’m in compliance with nature’s laws, as far as I know.
I’m quite sad the press has to excoriate insurrectionists.
I’m thankful for this day, grateful a steady sun persists.
I’m on constant watch for the nightmares that incite me.
I’m prepared to thrust my heart across some foreign sea.
I’m through with acrimony over the pettiest of concerns.
I’m at a crossroad where passion for my brief life burns.
I’m sure that next time around I’ll take a raincoat along.
I’m expecting rain in some form—salt, fire, ashes, song.