(for Kris, with a K, who understands the appeal of Blakroc, Baltimora and other things that begin with the letter B)
here comes
the night again
sliding out
of his duster
and cozying up
like we're old friends
plying me
with vodka
and telling me
i'm holy
that one day
i'll scorch the sky
and the world will know
my righteousness
thinking he
can slip one in
when i'm
not looking
but i'm
not having it
about to drag him
outside
make him
walk it off
i think he
forgets himself
i'm not
so easily persuaded
and there is
nothing i can't lick
can i get
an amen?
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