There are rumors a woman I don?t know
will return here in December
I want to present myself to her
whole or on paper
kneel like a courtier,
say

See here bruised fruits of my labor
plucked from the slavering jaws of toil
of nights spent tucked thighs to belly
bleeding cheap pens to tattoo my arms
often even with my left hand
(wink.)

What would she say
looking with cold, bright eyes
into the basket filled with paper
or the tin full of burned, bad tasting sweets
Something kind
would part her lips just a little
I?d know
she?d know
And I would buy her a drink.


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Fetch me my blue fright wig, that I may be handsome when I unleash my wrath.