...who fills the place he settles in like smoke from floor to ceiling
he has no need for invitations
he moves to town & draws a crowd of pitbulls
his territory's marked with chewed cigars & roadkill
he makes the housewife carve totems on her skin
he makes another mother's brother ditch his family for the homeless life
he burns the money of devotees on an altar to himself
Chauncey makes the heads of his friends smoke the heads of enemies he fries to a crisp
who spends hot nights naked out on the porch shooting at the ghosts of former landlords
who when laid low stays down to look up skirts
generous provider he comes home bearing water & gasoline
the water is for the tank of his landlord's car
the gasoline to mix cocktails with
the day he makes the rounds of his landlords in a slow black van their heads turn up dotting his fence posts
he picks what road to take by the leaning of his cock
those who call him careless he grinds in with his sticky leaf & smokes up without a trace
just when you've forgotten him he sneaks up on you like a ghost in moccasins
they call him master of the whore's bath
he was the first to teach whores how to bathe
master of working hard at never having to work he fills devotees’ heads with thoughts of mutiny
if he weren't such a good teacher there'd be bloody revolution in the street
he greets death like a comrade from the wild old days then chases him away with a smoker's cough
when death corners him again in a hospital room he laughs his ass right out of town
waking up he spits lung butter at the creditors closing in
falling asleep to the sound of warfare his dreams keep the neighborhood awake