Neither table nor tide has turned.
The worm sits still.
Perhaps autumn will wane forever.
Fate has an ace up her sleeve, I'm sure,
since she's a cheating *****
who won't show her cards
even on the big blinds.
On these long, cold nights
the breath of the devil
Smells like coal-fired power and retail transactions.
Click here for free expedited shipping
if you're willing to breath the diesel fumes
pouring out of the Wilcox Tunnel
like cordite discharge from a gun barrel.
**** it.
I still love ice cold Coca Cola Classic
with its pretty can as red as
the blood of Christ.