I came with two hands each tipped with sharp fingers to help a zebra people who long ago decided to separate their colors
They gave me a sun-blistered tongue that belonged to a departed step-mother and was told to talk to the father remaining
No one understands why the donkeys sing but I am here anyway and can tell you why
With a word that I can't find in my concrete monk's cell with a lizard's skull ensconced somewhere in the wall
Because my mouth with its borrowed tongue can't make the sound that blew over the next dune
To land at the feet of a man whose face I can't see, so I don't ask because I will never know him
As I know my black love my howli wrapped around the gum Arabic encrusted secret always wanted to find
Like the ants always want my bread but stopped by the universal RIM-grass a plastic bag
like me, neither iron nor skin therefore imported and foreign and holding a STATE
of VISA or hope or boredom or another sovereign emotion belonging to the plastic foto identification with two sharp hands
-Karl Adam