hey surgeon!
draw your circle plans
on MY sad gut
and
i’ll
punch plum coloured bruise shapes
all over
your
Mercedes
face
save your talents for EMERGENCIES i say
or
i’ll
batter your knees with this oxygen manifold
then steal your knife-trim wife
who
will
spit black on your
shining
laminate
gravestone/cheque book in a bone dry mitt
your family album photo frozen
and
dated
in
a
plastic oval
your flat side-parting cheese forever
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