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Foie Gras (Sonnet) by Christof

Ring damn you ring and let it be Some telesales rep or marketeer And let me pick up the funnel and pour My warm scorn into their captive ear Until they burst or I burst first. I'm grey before my day and lumpen from fear That I'll never again strike the winning runs Or shag the blonde I once lived near. There's me and my office and the filleted men Who work for me, shrink from me, call me their friend And the blank night sky where there once was a screen For the playing and playing of favourite dreams There's me and my office and the pulsing release Of the torture of geese.

Christof 25-Jun-07/1:38 AM
The 'funnel' is my own term, glad you like it! And the geese are referring back to the title - they are the telesales people being filled up until they burst, like geese fattened up to make pate de foie gras.




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