I am wringing my hands
until they bleed,
blasting my
until every ghost
in the city
complains to
the cops,
I am asserting
my right to
not care a speck
about what gets wrecked
or pecked to death
under inspection
as I scream
at the traffic
that passed this
corner a day ago,
large old men
in tights
and bandanas
tear off their tee shirts
on a stage that
is slippery with drool,
suddenly every
kind word is a crime
only the gallows
can forgive.
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