You and your cheap-suit sentiments
Don't stand a chance with me.

Inflate your fat-faced ego—
I've got a pin.

Ashes, ashes and dust, dirty your soul;
Once it was river-fresh and whole.

I saw your brother under a rock yesterday,
Millipede legs moving with oily precision.

Why don't you hook your heart on a line?
Fine fish bait, that atrophied organ...

©2016 Michael Fraley

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