sharecropper's lament
I hate this machete, it's heft is my curse.
Flailing at jungle, path out a cruel joke.
Born in the open, No need for a trail.
But this dark sauna, will swallow me yet.
Bills lie unopened, demands with no map.
Give unto Ceasar, he ain't got my back.
But I'll swing this steel, razor's edge long gone.
It's all that I know, pay my way somehow.
stephen
stephen
1 comment:
Nice.
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