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The Phony

I know how you will meet your end.
There shall be playing cards involved
and many tables.
That hill, your favorite, shall be leveled
for a new highway
which I will proudly drive over
every day
as I go to my work
at the puppy mill.
You certainly are
a mess,
and will spend your evenings
surrounded by
alcohol and loud voices.
I have never lied before, sir.
I am always correct.
You will stumble from
the bar one night,
the replacement of your favorite
natural haunt
and you will trip
fall unconscious in a puddle and
drown with your face
in muddy water.
And no one
will care.





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