Momma taught him to wash his face
say grace and pray before succumbing to sleep
but Little Boy Blue prefers his soap-box
and a pack of cigarettes.

His tongue so sharp he knows one day
it’ll fall to low and slice his own throat,
but this street corner is raised a good six feet
above the street, so he figures he’s fine.

love love love
he prelects
love love love

And all he sees are dirty faces and
stained souls wandering below: the sun
pockmarked with Horatio’s disasters
and water slithering brown into drains.

love love love
he prelects
love love love

But Morpheus is such a determined flirt
and with flocks deaf as stone, Boy Blue can’t help
but wonder how sweet those dreams
Momma chased away all those years could be.

lust.