prisoned with felted lines of nobility
you do not deserve
nothing goes your way
so you make your way and pave
the grass with stolen cement
you charge a tollbooth,
smile with a gold tooth.
i want none of your smooth.
you skilled artist of hard paints:
how might you fool the next soft fool
who comes close with her heart lodged still in throat?
when the wind blows,
you know it's time to go
before your skin bares all to the world.
you have no shame as your colors show,
you have no tricks of the trade--
you are the tricks of the trade.
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