Gift Wrapped Box of Shadows


I traipse thru the salons

Drunker than a polecat

Sharpening my talons

On the bones of the proletariat

Liquefied on tonic and gin

Their souls light as quicksilver

Their similes twisted in chagrin

I pray solemnly before I pilfer

Their brown lawns and socioeconomic

Struggles and slide down their ivory towers

Concocting an inscrutable polemic

Then sleep in a bed of flowers

Marigolds, daisies, stinkweed and rotgut

Abloom like malapropisms on the tongues of knaves

I close my eyes then sew them shut

My work here done tomorrow I free the slaves



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