The Final

I am the recluse!
I am personally
Political
I'm not breaking into the
Counterculture

Critiquing the useless
Politicians
I am the honey gel
Melted into your mane
Tempered tart on a Thursday night

I will not shock you
Or make you wild
Make you grow a dark beard
Only to shave it off
And reveal the red undergrowth

I have been saddling these young men
Roasting the mustard seeds
Just to see what they smelled like
On the solitary portable stove
You handed to me

The last time I made human contact
When I sun baked
Peeled for days
The last birthday that I danced at
The Saturday that almost became Sunday

That I do not remember
The curt chill of
Nor the cheaper alcohol that I last drank
To toast your triumphant return
And this internal demise.