cRage

There you go walking hRd ahead

with yR hands jammd 

tight in yR pockitts, 

maybe late 4 yR bus or 

maybe yR marriage now, 

it’s prying up the BIG rocks 

aftR all these yeers and

there, there in the mud, 

yR feelings 

crawling around with far 2 mNy legs. 

You are mad mad mad—

black or white, 

leaning into the cold wind, head down 

all alone on the cRwdid downtown streets:

in yR own wRld Rn’t cha? 

maybe laaaaate for the bus. 

So. thR ya R, hands jammd in yR pockitts,

like I sed,

feelings hRd as walnuts.

Then. hey—

 

thRz that guy again,

that guy playN the mother lovin’ BAGPIPES

on the sidewalk.

He’s just playN and playN and playN

people walkN by,

he is Scotland all by hisself.

The case opened at his feet thR, 

cRdbRd sign says, GOIN’ TO BRAZIL.

U wonder about that. 

This guy, he’s going to bRzl, so,

I guess he needs a lot of BREATH in him.

He’s blowiN and blowiN like that so he can

fill up.

Maybe he needs courage, like maybe

thRz a gRl in bRzl and 

them 2 gonna tRy to make it wRk agin

after all these yRs.

Or maybe he needs those

dollRs.

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