Smear it Out Man (a poem for the poets)

Smear it Out Man

January, cold month for all of us,
we all sat out on the porch.
our heads wrapped in thought and our mouths working
the kitchen had cooked up a mean soup
the boys were happy and my dogs didn't bark
as much.
the market was open but we couldn't go in
they didn't allow the line crossers to cross the line
our feathered hats were all we had left
that and a bowl of some mean chowder.
the wind blew across the flat land and ourselves,
we were under the mercy of the mother.
Earth had done it, we had done it, it had done it,
we were all losers, in one way or another, but then again
if we were all losers, that also means sometimes we had to win
we won whenever we were given the drink on the cuff.
or we won when we drove home, and made it each time,
we won when women were treated with desire,
but not for their beauty,
but for the intelligence and beauty of their soul.
sometimes we won and we never knew it, other times
we didn't care,
but the pest part of mostly losing, is when you win
the life taste that much better, it's like sucking air in
and having it rush to the back of your mouth and
give mad pain to your gums
so i say lets give up trying to win all the time,
and start letting the losing be what it is.
lets start with our minds?
aye!