If I came to you now, wouldn’t you stand without br A dropp of sympathy: br You might even laugh outwardly at my scars, br And that would be okay as long as you served br Me beer. br Rimbaud was laughed at too, and he lost his leg; br And you could get your bluer boys with anchors on br Their biceps to rough me up a bit, br And then swing lippy into you to show me how it br Is done, if I was brave enough to drink from br Your venal crèche; but my body is constructed for br Hard labor, br So it might surprise you that after I knocked their br Lights out and dragged you past the cheery br Buildings of your favorite University, thrashing up br All the not so wild flowers along the way br As another useless gift of suffocating beauty, br I would keep my balance and stamina, and it would br Only hurt a little, coming up out of the sea br And losing your breath, and saying such names br That I suppose, after awhile, we might name our children.