And I apologize, Great Mother,
For I am the one who is receiving the slug
Bullet after bullet and thudding
But too poor to pay the gunman
He says, ‘This one is out of charity, son’
Next morning and a greater sense of nakedness
In the ears and under
But too poor to keep the blood running
And last night was a flood
What else be found when it subsides,
But dams that quiver, swollen and numb?
That’s versatile stuff, though, the gums!
Too poor to keep my guard up,
And last night, you threw a heavyweight’s punch
A kiss’ll get my heart sloppy-drunk
On its own dumb blood,
So be careful with those eyes, or I will stumble
Does this qualify, you front-facing, old, sagacious bum
As being reinvented, drug out of that mud?
The middle will never get what’s in this gut,
Because I ain’t so poor, that I’d fall in no clutches
But if you’re the poorhouse, baby,
Open up your doors and make those clutches tight
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