My hair sweats in the hot weather;
I think there’s something to be said
That somehow I can be made hotter
By the thin hair on my head.
I’d like to be able to take a walk
And not break out in a sweat
Which drips out of the follicles
Like a bleeding paper cut.
The wound is small, but still the gore
Distills somewhat profusely
For apparently it doesn’t take
A lot to get me bleeding.
I cut my hair; I trim my beard;
It feels good to throw away
The different parts of me which seem
Heavier than they weigh.