Mama

 here I am
 in the ground
 my mouth
 open
 and
 I can't even say
 mama,
 and
the dogs run by and stop and piss
on my stone; I get it all
except the sun
and my suit is looking
 bad
and yesterday
 the last of my left
 arm gone
very little left, all harp-like
without music.

at least a drunk
in bed with a cigarette
might cause 5 fire
 engines and
 33 men.

I can't
 do
 any
 thing.

but p.s. -- Hector Richmond in the next
tomb thinks only of Mozart and candy
caterpillars.
 he is
 very bad
 company.

Form: Free verse

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