They will hang
a name on him
They tread over corpses
of his kin
Tarring and feathering
his homeland
Keeping bugs
in jars
on bedside tables
He’s kicking it
for Christ
Kicking for Christ
Something that should
have been beaten
out of him
long ago
Too many druggy days
treating them like whores
Putting x’s through numbers
Calendar pages falling to floor
Following footsteps
And he won’t learn
a damn thing
where others have walked
As he twists
his Rollie Fingers
moustache
He is a gorgeous man
but he makes decisions
like an ugly boy
He put his time in
On factory floor
He swept
white trash away
He inserts his tongue
and tastes
my brain
Puts stones in my pockets
and we go down
together
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