RAT'S ASS
I don't have a clue to boast to be true. Cecil took his own life one year ago today. Bought a used book at the used book store today. It had blood and come stains on it. It was a good read anyway. But Cecil wouldn't see it that way. "That book is rotten" he'd say. He ran in search of death. Sometimes drove to catch his breath. A white ford casket aimed shakily at escape. Dark furnace of relief. He's driving straight at me. His arm has grown a bottle you see. Step down on Dunvegan number 12. Goose Down on Dunvegan. Introduce the disarm. Where is Cecil's head these days. Lost in digging ditches, dodging family and killing strays. It's just a drop to the clincher. The landing where ceiling is out of view. He's driving his casket full speed ahead at you. In sweatstains and staggering right past you. And he died that way. In sweatstains.
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