oh do not turn away
I recognize I am not one of your select
one of the children with the golden eyes
who float above the earth
and collect your largess and then your lagnappe
no, please just whisper to me
I know you have already dispensed my handful of sand
but please, now speak
or whisper, mutter, mumble, gibber
but tell me what passes for reason
that you roll out your apples, oranges, and grapes
onto the tables of the few
then grains of wheat, barley and oats
onto the tables of some more
until you get to most of us
and spill out dust and sand and seeds
speak to me hornzaplenty
whisper, but tell me your little secrets
like how so many of us
can look at people without even dust and sand
staggering along in cloth held together by despair
and call them "dirty"
and call police
speak to me hornzaplenty, please
tell me how so many of us can watch untroubled
while others take away our schools
while others take away our houses
while others take away our jobs
while others take away our money
then scorn us as the God-forsaken
speak to me hornzaplenty
floating by us in the air
nodding to one and then another
but spilling only for the select
speak to me hornzaplenty
or if not me some other fool
who will protest on pen and paper
and maybe when cops come to burn the paper
they'll spark a conflagration
that will burn even the houses of the select
and even you, oh hornzaplenty
yes, even you
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