The Coat. aft. Yeats

I made my song a coat

And burning my fingers

Steamed on patches

Slurs, bands etc

And in scraps I wrote

I sunk pins, also through the skin

So they walked in the world

But in time and wet they curled

Fucker took the patches and coat too

But better to be freezing

Blue limbed and true

With small red wounds 

Than you