Pockets

Pockets to hold them down

Pockets to keep them around

Pockets to shoot them in

Pockets to fill when you win

Pockets to cram a jammed fingered glove

Pockets to fill the plate of love

And to hide the weepers lost and found

To pull them high

I ain’t going down

Pockets if turbulent crowd

Pockets of keen accusation

Pockets of strong resistance

Pockets of weak information

Pockets to cram a jammed fingered glove

Pockets to fill the plate of love

And to hide the weepers lost and found

To pull them high

I ain’t going down

Brеaking the seal

On the lawn of display

With hands in my pockеts

And my back turned away