Saturday, September 26, 2009


Essex and Delancey
on Saturday morning,
and the degenerates
are sniffing me --
I might be a cop;
and the cops
are sniffing at me --
I might be a degenerate.

Duck into the OTB
where everyone's looking
for the stub of a pencil.

Until we're winners or losers,
we're all the same here.

But now the big lady
behind the bullet-proof glass
is yelling at me;
these multi-race exotic
cards make no sense to me.

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