Working Man

WORKING MAN

I keep a couple.

Dimes. Glocks. Dollars.
Rubbing each other like two fingers sprinkling a spell to attract.
Busting to keep control.
Spending to secure the top.
Slick enough to slide and
keep lies hidden.
To bring them in- fatuated with hurt-work done to minds for control.
Like the routine I chase for pay.
Whoring myself every day.

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