We rent wood panel walls, one working outlet,
thirty days ‘til we’re squatting thieves in sour sheets,
snakes under bunks, one TV screen with too many eyes.
Sunrise means hay bale hopping, so up with light
to piss out an uninsulated, unsealed windowsill.
Yes, my penis! This is where venom comes from.
If we’re not fat rats in public pools, thirsty for sugar,
poor enough to lap up purple piss water,
knowing it’s what thin people do, go walk.
Walk even as yellow-toothed Ol’ Roy hounds chase untied
brandless sneakers across peanut country as better-paid-than-parents
Mexicans build over Indians in soil: a new layer of future.
Kick cans on country roads, they don’t kick back,
though cows look back with public transit stares:
One day, you’ll kill me.
Meander to Texas state burial plots, count chiseled
crosses: some unburied bureaucrat tracks the dead’s rest
but not the living’s sleep: stagnate as melted snails.
Poor children sleeping: you don’t know
if the calf in the swamp is dancing