this smooth man
his blue chinese curtains
flown in wind-free
electronically;
his O point five-ness
and focussed, local news,
the fellow of the other
whose style and suit
hung him out to dry
in my threadbare mind.

O agent of houses,
in whom I trust,
deliver me your fee
as I debate money
with the homeless
gravedigger, who
wears my tag,
in this queue
down that street
of absurd exchanges.

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