Poem (mine-all-mine).

Boy, teach me
how to guru

how to blow
on through

the rest of these
young XY’s

with lines attached.
I see you (boy)

firstborn of a wild
acorn morn

where the willows
caw their hip

misnomers. Miss
Homer’s what

they call me
at the bar you

saw me swillin’ in
my ankles brushed

up along some
damn nice flooring

the microphone in
my lady hand

I demand
of you I demand

you call me other
-wise call me wise

call me by my given name
at the very least boy call

your momma

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