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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.
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