dodging time
and all its blows, like a fighter.
bob, weave, you know.
seems impossible, but we make do.
with science these days
and enough money... why
stop at a second house? buy
a body to bleed; hook it up in the blood
closet, take hits while you sleep.
everyone knows how we feel about
the small folk, we just remember to whisper.
buy them a helicopter ride and some
court side seconds, a sack with up-to-date
swag.
shit, they'll be begging to hook into your bag.