Crack Baby With Aids

Just born into life,
Tomorrow, if only ripe.
Cry baby cry more.
There is no open door.
Skin to soon be sore.
Don't shake on the floor.
MOM just want more.
Don't call me a whore.
Bottle empty, cry some more.
Don't think you will - long.
What's the name of that song.
'CRACK BABY AIDS GOT SHOES'.
Not like the blues.
DOCTOR said, 'dead soon true'.

from my new book:
THE BEGGAR plus SELECT POETRY
search: POEWHIT

JESUS SAVES

by JOE POEWHIT

Comments (1)

Yet another immortal piece from the pen of Pushkin. The parting has been beautifully sketched and the expectation of the next meeting has all its eagerness and softness of heart. 'You owe it me...'. Who would expect such a kind of end? 'cloudless infinities'... very poetic indeed. We all wish we could master his pen.