He had polio, or maybe scarlet fever
Sat in a river to find some sense of balance
In a life he couldn’t understand nor contain.
Beauty is an illusion
Brought to us by the fallacy
That something looking pleasant
Would most probably be pleasant.
This cannot possibly be the case
As a mountain can look beautiful
Until it is spewing lava
Or burying you under an avalanche.
My best friend is the spenster
The elderly woman with no driveway
Or sense of belonging.
My best friend is the tree
With four distinct trunks
Branches hanging out everywhere.
My best friend is the skunk
The one you hide from
Because it smells like you act.
My best friend is the pond
Even the geese.
The unattractive is beautiful
When you realize the beautiful
Is typically the most dangerous.