Don’t give him any money
Acting like he’s your responsibility
Your neglected brother, ex
Like you’re the one who
Cleaned him out—shook
His brain of ideas
So all he can do now is
Turn a frayed collar up agains the wind
And lay out a stained palm he
Doesn’t even have a cup
Now that’s a pessimistic view
In not asking
Who will give?
Looking at that dirty palm
It’s impossible to see his lines
I cannot read him
Hear him or in fact
Right now
Even see him.
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