lycanthropic

back in the bygone       it was all lumpy gravy      served hand to mouth       but I rarely went without      I fought bitterly for every morsel that fell from the big table      what’s in a man’s blood that makes him so combative?       I cultivated mostly clean thoughts         in my mostly clean mind        but I still dredged up the filth from time to time       there were nameless troubles fomenting behind my back      I had the fear on something chronic        a man can’t live like that       he can only slowly die      I had to get a new gimmick        or maybe a change of skin       I have the power to do that      I can always change my skin