I am poor not penniless

I am poor not penniless

Fiends would rather I am wretched

Life for me reels like ratchet wheels

My intestine ignorant of squared meals

No salt, no beef, or an aqua beast

All straight it stretches like a Christian monk

Rotating my three tops regularly than standing fans

Then that same shirt yesterday and everyday

I waddle my torso with presidential panache

One wonders my empty stomach lust

With the loudest smile it cries

Fiend would rather I die and dry

But I am poor not penniless

I school public and know naught private

I know not beds but safe mats

Where I sleep with no fear of falls

Rolling through both edges of my cave

At night I dance like a wondering dervish

Fiend would rather I stand and cry

But I am poor not handicap

So I shoki, wiggle and giggle

Since love does not lurk on the legs

Or mouth or anything visceral like that.

 

 

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