The front porch of the mayor's house
is possibly a great place for oral sex
In the morning, the mayor finds him
moping around picking his teeth
there are flowers in his hands
it is hilarious. They laugh while
outside of the porch it is raining
and the real one laying down is wet
He exclaims in bursts of feathers and
angry, dark soup. From the mud, the
exploited can be heard, sobbing.
But numbers have been crunched and he
simply has to die in the mud. There is
no money for coffins or gold.
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