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Opinions, poems & Short-short Stories of Fictional Shite.

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herdinator

ka-ching

the old cash register say's

the sound of coins

rattle in their tray

weathered notes

old and fray

lay waiting to

be used and abused

ka-ching

money rattler

shaker and move

become rich and

slide right into the groove,

fingerless palms

temptations

where dreams become greed,

an addiction like nicotine

hard to control

weak at the knees

friends you'll have;

no name faceless beings

who ka-ching to your needs,

a division of greed

diversion from humanity.


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