persimmons were rimmed with liminal bling
like matrons from France with pears up their ass,
though the ferocity of faux was unprecocious to moi,
the perilous most loquacious folk could
seriously hope was shipwreck at sea,
disastrous as that would certainly be
to the spurious purveyors of gleaming jewelry,
hell, deleterious as well to rapacious capitalists
whose gross bellies swell nauseous in the land of the free,
it’s dangerous out there for those in between.
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