I hustled for a hundred years
underneath the shifting sky
the revving of the mythos
the taste of death still unswallowed
I hustled in the disturbed earth
where scorpions raised their tails like
a call to battle
water covered your body like the swimming of hands
like a year and a day of silk gloves
over every breath of skin
I hustled every medium, every flavor of death
I hustled through the gullies where
fishermen’s boats still look like children’s toys
through sun-sucked clay and
passages of smoke
from terrestrial gas stations to
wild ranges and unmapped lights
from lovers’ shelters to naked, open nights
I have hustled blood into hard-packed soil
in foreign tongues, in wars where the heart
beats the marching drum
I’ve hustled tears and I’ve hustled laughter
into arms and legs of those I didn’t
deserve
I have hustled piano runs and numerous prerogatives of dope
every time I hustle art I quit the next day
phony moments in time
as soon as you pull the ribbon it
turns to ash in your hands
I’ve hustled myself
in the style of those around me
phony, regrettable
I’ve hustled every religion, every sign of the zodiac
I’ve hustled the man, the minion, the nobody
messiahs, shooting stars, bags of cheap coke
I’ve hustled confessions like a cult leader
putting a design on death
I’ve hustled rain and sun, drought and flood
desert and jungle and fields of pavement
days and nights that roll into years
the tides and the traffic
rides to nowhere down a sunken road
and where has it gotten me?
where have these roads converged?
where am I now?
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