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I was a quick, wet boy
Diving too deep for coins
All of your street light eyes
Wide on my plastic toys
Then when the cops closed the fair
I cut my long baby hair
Stole me a dog-eared map
And called for you everywhere

Have I found you, Flightless Bird;
Jealous, weeping?
Or lost you, American Mouth;
Big billed, looming?

Now I’m a fat house cat
Nursing my sore, blunt tongue
Watching the warm poison rats
Curl through the wide fence cracks
Pissing on magazine photos
Those fishing lures thrown in the cold and clean
Blood of Christ mountain stream

Have I found you?, Flightless Bird;
Grounded, bleeding?
Or lost you, American Mouth;
Big billed, stuck going down