I toldja I was trouble. 9am Keeps sliding by the wayside. Keep your job, We'll need it for the cover charges. When And what and where... consume it to the cob And let the others snuffle after that. They get the fallen tassels. You get this. You take el luchador down to the mat. There's photographic evidence. You sit Where no one else can ride. Do not disturb Until the second workshop. Keep their hands Where you can see them. Out here in the burbs We don't leave the hotel. I give commands And, answering, you chuckle to yourself. You share the interest. But you keep the wealth. Tags: monday fourteen, poetry, sonnets
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