Is the tip of the rose more sweet?

Does it heighten the more I crawl up?

Or smell as sour as the salt on my tongue?

Read the words out of your mouth.

I read the paper. Yes, that is my name.

Mother says don’t eat anything from

The palm of another man’s hand.

My stomach grumbles, and I lick any crumb.

The pauper in the bricks asked me for food,

But I never gave him. I take those crumbs,

I remember the way his wrinkles deepened

When he said, “May God bless you.”


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