March’s promise made of Monday…wine and crust.
A piglet ploughs the fields of doughy money
…the bum beholds his pocket vacant, empty.
The Lord looks down and laughs
…the Devil laughs as well
…at all of the sins of pride
whose truth is turned to vegetable and dust
while spirit things have lied
themselves to Hell.
The vagrant is at sea without an oar.
The piglet has to pee
and pisses honey
…five cups of piss at four a cup means twenty
shekels for the piglet’s wife and whore.
Those who rule, are cheated then, by death
and those without by loveless life and breath.
These coins mount up in treasures or in debt
…either way, the women sit and weep
for loss and loss, both light and heavy like a cross
…death’s blackness is the piglet’s only fear
though cool and dark in April… like a tear!