Tomorrow I will begin set in ink
By grass. To sleep as if I had been drawn
There in the field of clover. A homeless
Man hung over with his belongings tied
Into a red handkerchief hung at the
End of a stick traveling alongside
My curly haired mutt. Have they seen her legs?
Hair dirty and knotted, choked with burrs. Her
Underside dripping with fatted ticks
Suckling on her teats like so many of
The unconscious biases that the left
Have about the nature of the evil
Capitalist system. On genius and
Who they think I am by the way I look.