Blood Stained Teeth

Blood-stained teeth mourning, good moaning I feel fettered festering, Sisyphussian lunches Am I a good boy? Me, a tankard eye plebeian Me, a son of Aries, bedroom trauma mid-nineties My little bare feet ocean-brined patter a dead fox At a wake for syllables incomprehensible four year olds The moss points north; I threw away my new shoes Saints of Returning would you bless my haircut? My mother’s hands are stained red, aren’t they? My father is the son of coca leaves; you bled dry Send for nurses and rebreak my collarbone I’ve always been cruising for a bruising