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Tawdry spellings 
of self-awarded names -
shark and juniper
imprinted rough as in corners 
of a bowling shirt.

Bits are measured best; 
like patient snacks to 
anonymous church basements, 
not like wearing down the timing belt 
mid freeway to pull the whole thing over.

She’s become a sojourner 
by influence,
a fantasy internet more cunning
than by intellect. 
Everything following 

the at symbol is a truth 
concealing a lie. 
If ever the market trades 
on petty tyrannies 
and bedside manner,

many folks can retire on a dime.
Minting bakery numbnesses 
with a kerosene splash, 
holding meetings on the kindling of chatter,
manipulated into fandom 

or at least recognition, 
so eventual toy deals
and special effects will go down 
bourbon smooth over rocks 
that won't be laughed at. 

Not to stand between a lion 
and its lunch;
there’s the choice of laying down 
or allowing lambs to scamper off 
to fruitful steppes, from whence they sprung.