I was a quick wet boy, diving too deep for coins, all of your street light eyes wide on my plastic toys, then when the cops closed the fair, I cut my long baby hair, stole me a dog-eared map and called for you everywhere. have I found you, flightless bird, jealous, weeping, or lost you, american mouth, big pill, looming. now I'm a fat house cat, nursing my sore blunt tounge, watching the warm poison rats curl through the wide fence cracks, pissing on magazine photos, those fishing lures thrown in the cold, and clean blood of Christ mountain stream. have I found you, flightless bird, grounded, bleeding. or lost you, american mouth, big pill stuck going down.
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