My belly bears a jaguar
scar. Ripped fast
by an unknown hand, an enemy rock,
or other, purpled intruders.
I know I deserve them. Hard times are here in America's
middle west. Beset on pearled banks by spear carriers
and minor lords. Our smoked out greybrick buildings,
once held the thirsty world's wine,
are now slummer cruised and filthy.
Bucked like my poison stomach down.
A land of great water grown cold
slurping, frosty, dancing to a graduation tune stoned.
Tough sleep, dented bedposts.
I saw a country in my viscera
while it was pecked at and I was falling,
beaten like a badguy who'd done wrong.
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