Indigent

Life without finance is like love without life:

contrived, expectant, waiting for the die

never cast, wings never last on ladies

bugged, flaccid, like night that is rife

with those cartoonish horrors, the men

suicidal from mocking tempos outlast

by the swaying of hearts, their minds outcast

from our last frontiers, our bearers of sin:

these are a few of my wavering fears,

living like maggots detached from dead meat,

hearing new praxis in their stumbling feet,

let there be ever those teat-mimicked beers

for those desperate many who return recalcitrant

of loss of love and for the love of them, indigent.