A square foot blanket sits on my lap,
Barely enough to keep me warm
While I'm trying to keep my cool,
Shivering like a small dog afraid of the world,
The real world,
Who barks at everything
And doesn't chew before it swallows.
People just as subjects,
I am the object of affection
Feeding the starvees of attention with my own.
I would say my verses are a curse
From many years have practiced diction,
But my topics are entropic,
Just blowing hot air over fiction.
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