visions of glossy syntax
are soon retired to the waning floor
as i rhymed hirudin stubbed upwards
with mirrored in pub awards
and my unwritten novel's maggoty shelf fear
is realized before it's even written
time for me to start thinking of a replacement major
maybe i'll be a side vet- a vet on the side?
or an awkward engineer,
a criminal amatuer
discretion voting in test bungalows,
raring circulation bioengineering
or should i just join the charlie sheen church and
win
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