Gentleman. sir:
I hate to be your cancer. I hate to hurt.
Gentleman. Sir:
I suck the devastation in a sweaty shirt.
We're on a rim.
Gentleman. ma'am:
They fight themselves disasters and they seldom win.
Gentleman, gatekeeper:
I found a little rape clog.
I found a tin inside the brain.
Inside the home, under the planks, I am alone and in disguise,
a strengthening pole and a harming gasp.
Gentleman, sir:
I hate to be your cancer.
I hate to hurt.
I'm working for your landmine.
I'm working in the Earth.
I'm on a rim.