why are some men born. with minds that earn degrees. the loving cups. gilded plaques. grace their study walls. hide the cracks. while their genius is turned. to works of tyranny then. off to market to market. go selling these. with words so fiery and persuasive. they steal cunningly. riches no one can exceed. and why are some men born. with a fate of poverty. one firm bed. for a swollen back. year by year. the bodies wracked while. their obedience is had. with gradual defeat. by the pace by the pace. and the urgency. through a muddled thought. they phrase it. God knows we're deceived. barter for. what they need. and where they go. disdain and jeering. for fools to call. the noble peasantry. o how it puzzles me. I pressed flat the accordion pleats. that had gathered in his cotton sleeves. while he thumbed. yes thumbed I wouldn't say caressed. the final piece. a mountain's crest. soon to reply assuredly. o for man aged ninety years. no words to waste on sermons. he'd be pleased to answer. short and sincere. girl there's a nonsense. in all these heaven measures. it's a heathen creed. so your grandma says. but better to live by.... drink it all in before it's dry. he ended there with a rattle. cough cough. I took away the long gone cold coffee cup. as a trail of Camel ashes fell. on the floor