My mind is too narrow
And so is this alley.
Once the rats come in racing,
They’ll gnaw off my toes.

Then there will be a coachman
Who’ll drag me to the ocean
And once there I’ll reclaim
My lungs and my prose.

To think that the maggots
Will have more of me
Than I ever had myself.

Because truth be told
We never owned anything,
Not even our graves.