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.”