The Fist Fits

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It costs a pound of flesh

To stamp down

The powder fuelled fiends

Into the earth

 

That glowing hue about you

The nymphs think it’s a glimmer

But everyone else knows

It’s nothing but your

Foul fixation’s sliver

 

The boy on white

A boy on rock

A poor girl on sugar

Go and figure

This sick compulsion

Is the bent client’s

Red emulsion

 

A real true propulsion for false equivocation

To every chemical component that could

Leave him in charge of assassination

In crowded pools of alienation

And countless burning inseminations

 

One dusk too many

And bones begin to ache

Till dawn and her lover’s bite

Traps you in stone fence

 

And you slam down to the earth

Eating the dust you paid for

With your pound of flesh

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