I have to be honest,
in poetry
and the way I say yes and no;
so I read Corso and Ginsberg
and a copy of the paper news
while you sleep
back and bum
facing me.
I touch the mole
on your thigh
to remind me
where I am and are:
I’m your boy
fighting to stay warm
in cold bourgeois dream
listenin’ to the dustmen
earn a crust
beneath our window
while I wait
to bully a mouse
to make mine.
So forgive me father
if my art declines
cus the bread I make
can’t be breaked
and its crumbs disseminated
in poetry
and the way I say yes and no;
so I read Corso and Ginsberg
and a copy of the paper news
while you sleep
back and bum
facing me.
I touch the mole
on your thigh
to remind me
where I am and are:
I’m your boy
fighting to stay warm
in cold bourgeois dream
listenin’ to the dustmen
earn a crust
beneath our window
while I wait
to bully a mouse
to make mine.
So forgive me father
if my art declines
cus the bread I make
can’t be breaked
and its crumbs disseminated
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