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I was a quick, wet, boy, diving too deep for coins, all of your
street light eyes wide on my plastic toys
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Then when the cops closed the fair, I cut my long, baby hair, stole
me a dog- eared map, called for you everywhere,
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-7 6
Have I found you, Flightless Bird? Jealous, weeping, or lost you?
American Mouth? Big pill, looming.
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Now I'm a fat, house cat, nursing my sore-blunt tongue, watching
the warm, poisoned rats curl through the wide fence cracks
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Pissing on magazine photos, those fishing lures thrown in the cold
and clean, blood of Christ mountain stream
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have I found you, Flightless Bird? Grounded, bleeding, or lost
you, American Mouth? Big pill stuck going down. |
