the pushers and sluggers,
the muggers of indifference
spitting, vomitting, expulsing poetry
through every pore.
to say you can't live wealthily on writing
is one poor statement.
it is my food, drink, pillow at night, hands
that hold in cold weather.
i watch over pages and pens, seeing you
getting up for your 9-5
while i write my 9-5 pages