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Yes it is true the title of this poem
a naked poet sits, writing at home
free from the materials next to the skin
revealing the man who hides within
Safe in the secrecy behind closed doors
freely moving without any clothes
dangerous it may be with a hot cup of tea
deadly if I miss the ashtray on my knee
Visitors are not welcome at this private time
no guests today, no cheese and wine
that reminds me of the danger I face
cooking with hot things all over the place,
It is nice to be free every now and then
feeling a lot lighter even younger again
noticing the textures of material things
when I brush past the furniture
and it touches my skin,
Soon it will be time to get dressed again
shrouded in fibers, made from man
wearing the skin of animals long dead
wearing the cotton, picked with hands that bled,
Fully clothed now I forget the way
our fashions were made
the price some had to pay
animal or man we are both the same
we will do anything as long as we gain.
John Mcleod
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