He’s just a man, and nothing more.
He needs a woman, and nothing less.
He would touch if he could,
he would love if he should.

I find him in the barrio;
I spy him long the wharves,
catching and cutting time.

I’ll kill him if I’d be so bold.
I’ll flay his skin right off,
when I gobble my stormclouds right.

The hurt he feels?
But he’s a baby;
a liar;
a half-ass freak.

The hurt he feels?
But we all hurt.

So he gets hit from the inside;
who doesn’t?

I’m lonely, but he’s a clod.

What is a hurt
in your pit?
What is a radiation
of hurt?
What is shame,
deepdown shame,
rolled in sickness,
baked in anger.
What’s that?

Spread him out like playing cards
atop your shaky green card table.
Now his heart’s there and his mind’s there;
now his brain’s gone blank.

AMWBW