whenever i am unsure of something or get spooked, i look at my hands.
i've got scars on most of my fingers from doing something dumb one
night out at the dam. i look at these scars and they make me feel
alive and real. sometimes my mutilation is the only thing that keeps
me grounded into this world.
i picture my hands as black, gnarled, twisty monkey hands which
are strong and hairy and not afraid.
my wise, strong hands.
i flex my fingers and hold them out and think of the magic
that's inside. goddamn, i think, with these monkey hands
i can do anything i want.
i got monkey hands and i can talk. it's not much, but it's enough
to put a bread basket mojo on the birds down at the zoo.