Old Crow, with unclean maw, I left a note, I sloughed a body.
Please don’t wonder where I’ve gone: the city’s wide; it has clean hands.
In the trunk I kept my clothing; in a sleeve I left some gold.
Buy a houseboy, buy a TV, get new sinks.
I am working for a factory.
The same beak in every well: bits of food upon my fingers.
See this white shirt, with a paling stripe; I’ve become a better person.
See this sweatband, slender food; the city is a fortune.
Old Crow, with lovely feet, I haven’t got a stitch to wear.
I would go out, but every step blooms animals.
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