My Play, Poverty's Play

And if poverty whips, largely, torments In her barefaced snort of withering grievance. I shall be the one, mannered by Earth's dog- wetness, To garner my broken possession, murk and bins, Writhe, clamber steep nigh moister Earth From foot of lazy deities, pick the sacred mound, Muzzle it deep against my leaking dereliction birthed From a heightened helplessness of obligation And speak the words of preserving ardour From deities' bossom As trambled Kola lobe and marooned salt Earthed for no sprouting in rushing footfalls, Prickled, insatiate in the belly of oblivion I shall be the praying yam wholly unearthed To the feet of a roasting 'adogan' I shall be the racketeering prey, jostled Endlessly in poverty's meaning play, Washed- out by riches' maze I shall be the mocking haunt lack tugs In steep eaves of perceived redemption.