They no longer carry coins.

They have wads of notes to spare,

But their instinct is to throw crumbs,

Or bits of half-eaten sandwiches.

They tell you to perform

One of those cute local dances,

Or to sing ‘Streets of London’,

Or playing a tune on the violin.

Or better still, sit up and beg,

Say how goddam grateful you are,

And hand over anything you’ve got,

Explainin...

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Yesterday, I cracked the whip
Over a poor man’s flesh
At his request
Yesterday, I dug my heels
Into the crotch of him
Because he asked
It hurt me to hurt him
But it would hurt him too
Had I refused
The thing about me
Is that I'm not
- Me, I mean -
I'm a chameleon,
Master of masks
Slipping on disguises
Like slipping on shirts
I am metamorphosis
Shapeshifter, am I
With wolf or doe ...

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