He manically, counter-intuitively,
wraps the black viper
around his neck, to what end?

To coax his fair-weather,
one-hundred-twenty-minute friends
to tug the end?

Coax the microphone cable?
Un autre solution est Paxil.

I worry about him. He must be young.
He must have not done
major dealings with primal man.

One slip of the cord can max out his respiring.
One should not anticipate such expiring.
In an industrial town, the challenges are down,
asphyxiation in surround-sound,
while the heart quakes for this–
the Teesdale stakes.


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