I was a quick wet boy, diving too deep for coins
all of your street light eyes, wide on my plastic toys.
Then when the cops closed the fair, I cut my long baby hair
stole me a dog-eared map and called for you everywhere.

Have I found you? Flightless bird, jealous, weeping

Or lost you? American mouth, big pill looming.

Now I'm a fat house cat, nursing my sore blunt tongue.
Watching the warm poison rats
curl through the wide fence cracks.
Pissing on magazine photos, those fishing lures
thrown in the cold and clean blood of Christ mountain stream.

Have I found you? Flightless bird, grounded, bleeding

Or lost you? American mouth, big pill stuck going down.