they grow faces when I talk to them
and learn their name is not Poverty

the palace making you believe your kindness is charity
crowns you with a sleeping hand
doesn't even feel the shudder of contempt
that metal has for my head

our neighbor knew it first
a month or so in he set to collecting kindling in the form of plastic bags
and the styrofoam that comes in on the beach
he slept in the lawn with the gate swung open
and rubbed his arms with shit bag soot
in the mornings

trying to get the white off him

he slithered on his belly into the gutters
insisted on getting in head first
big troughs where you can find full grown dogs
browsing what the city forgets
and every one leads to the beach

if you press curdling bits of manioc paste in your palms
you can get pineapple skins to stick to your shoulders
but its only the white people that want to change their color that bad
so they know you just the same

all those gutters leads to the beach
where your reality waits
they congratulate your efforts for the gutters' good
and cite awards sure to be in your future

for dressing upon emergence they've built you a house on the sand
in architecture no one has ever attempted for anyone here
and smiling they assure you no one will live in it when you're gone

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