there’s a boy in bronzeville

who will kiss you with no shoes on

on the long walk back from the beach

where his big cousin goes to smoke dope

where some old teamsters might be buried

where you can see that sunken ship peak out

where the sand bar drops off steep and sudden

and he’ll tell you it’s named something greek

and he’ll say it belonged to jimmy hoffa

and he’ll ask if you wanna get high

and he’ll tell you you’re gorgeous

and he’ll tell you he loves you

and whatever other little lies

pop into his half-stoned head

when you taste his liar tongue

like copper and buffalo nickels

and that, my dear friend, that is

where you will be when you realize

there’s a reason why you avoid the lake

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