Baggage and more

Don’t try to lay that on me

Don’t saddle me with your heaviness

You are carrying rocks in your bag

What makes you think I want to carry that on my back?

A dozen and one lies in a pocket

And a Roman Coliseum

Where you pit everyone for your blood sport

Someone will turn the ring inside out

Your bags are falling apart

And I cannot bandage them up

I am not here to prop you up

I am not here to be your porter

Carry your own rotted plants

Pull your own rock-saddled wheels

When you can be one with the truth

I will, in tien, be your rock