Behold the city birds
They wear fancy pink,
Pleats unkempt, blots of ink.
You give them hope, I dare you there--
They suck your red, vile and bare.
Joe strums the Memphis
They look at him, kiss him soft; and turn him wisdom-red.
The city birds scrape him out and throw at him a gun
The gun weeps loud, yearns for a path; the path that sinks the sun.
…..And tidy natives chide her off,
For she sketches baby rhymes....
No comments:
Post a Comment