It's a brisk business
This skinning
The bark from live trees
A plastic card falls
From your wallet
The birth right of refusal
The soup you've squandered
Beneath moldering sleeves
These aren't your arms
But pass the ketchup
Indeed
The smell of my son
Is like the smell of a field
2 comments:
Oh, I like that one. Good beginning, and end.
Thanks, Sarah :-)
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