it’s been awhile since the Cinema 3,
collecting years and lines
in the flesh beneath my eyes
still don’t have a lot of commas
but you can’t complain when you can sustain
except
when the pricks start drawing blood,
seeping out, but clotted doubt
makes everything crystalline clear,
cutting down their ballsy riddles
charging me for having what little
I have
a different road is calling my name
not paved in gold, but
kinder on the skin on my feet.