The Rambler, the Gambler
By Tyler Cain Lacey

My mother and fathers built a tower to heaven,
sat on clouds, gambling with God,

Babbling - on, Babbling on.

I have my Fathers' Hands and my mothers' tongue.
Callused palms and dirty nails
gripping handles of hammers and handfuls of nails,
I build my tower.
Loose lips and snakes and worms rolling and slithering
     off my tongue,
I build my tower, and continue.

Babbling-on, Babbling-on.

Bubbles and blisters on my hands and tongue,
bitten by guild and born by evil, I sit atop my tower,
     resting my hand on a cloud:
"God, my lips are cracked and chipped and dry,
     my hands are cut and bruised and bloody.
I cannot call my bet or deal these cards."

Babbling-on, Babbling-on.