February 29, 2012
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He sits.
His toes are icky,
His belly is round,
His legs are long and slender.

Him and his unintelligent, glassy-eyed stare...

His fingers are sticky,
He belches a sound,
His skin is wet and tender.


Out of pores, mucus pours,
In his trap, a tongue is trapped.
'Bove his head, insect soars,
With a snap, the bug is slapped.

He sits.
Him and his satisfied,

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