Poor as Poets

Free Verse ReVolution

Tell me your price, and I’ll build
you their
miniature versions;

LEGO homes and
fireplace love poems because the
furnace has been
broken since

Tell me what the rest of my life
with you is
worth and should
I lack materials
to build it, the means to give our
children the benefit of a doubt,

the flowers of our
garden some ground to
grow upon;

I’ll spend my
life’s remainder fucking up
death and certain danger to

right all the wrongs
of your
leather chequebook.

Isn’t that worth the
second look
although you know I’m as

poor as poets
who write
off asset seizures
as the cost of being
true believers in something

other than
being crooks?

Even love expects
down payments and balanced books.

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