Brutuses, Judases and Backstabbers.

Hear me now on my death bed
as y'all
come
swinging knives in the
dark,

Hear me holler out:

"I am a poet whether you
can use me or not!
Whether feast or famine,
crowd
or
solitude, I am and
will always be
the truthsayer, the soothsayer,
the singing bard that
twists in your ears!"

Still dark, still swinging.
The Judases will smile in my face:

"It's gonna be all right, kiddo."

The Brutuses I won't see coming

"And thou, also?"

The Backstabbers will laugh

"I can't believe he bought it!"

A Diogenes wasted for you, lying in the street
uselessly.

More valuable a Virgil
to extol
the virtues
of the "True Romans."

True to lies
and
greed.
True to all the winks and flashes.

True to the hand that holds the knife
and the heart that swings it.

True to the blood on the Senate floor and
true to the picture hanging; to get you shot
in the back.

Your hearts lie
on the coinpurse strings
that you garrote me with.

Squeaking, squirming:
"And thou, also?"