Mama says you talkin’ to hell
And the truth of the world, well

I picked the money.

I once shot an angel.
I’ve got his wings.

I once was an angel, too.
A too delicate thing.

Cock Roberta and I are fools
To try to be friends.

I’ve mapped the three gullies of the great backyard
And blazed the way out through the thunderstorm of ‘04.

I have my beat my chest.
Rent my chest.
Felt it heave.
Bathed it in sweat.
Washed it in blood.
And carried it heavy.
I have protected and been protected,
Felt and am still feeling.

Mine is the taste and smell of disregard
With the sweetness of youth intact but a bit more far
Away every day.
Not yet long in the tooth
But soon.

I am the line walker,
The boundary’s cage and keeper
And prey.
Man by day
Troubled by night.