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the arse-blood blues
in bed on my own doing no more than the usual things
and the dog sleeps on the floor down beside me
more than certainly doing his share of the dog-stink
with no thought for his effect on my piled-up clothes
while I lay in the dark
and worry about my arse
cos I got the piles
got them hemi-roids;
like grapes out my arsehole
an old mans illness
and women too
yeah pregnant women get them
not sure if god is looking or even laughing
but either way
fucker has done me good
with the kind of illness
you can’t mention in polite company
god and me are funny like that;
I live my life
while he/she/it does whatever the fuck
and nothing happens either way
I’ll probably die from arse bleeding
or laying in bed ignoring arse bleeding
and they might say “fuck, why didn’t he go to the doctor”
then they’ll remember that whole thing about god
and realize it wouldn’t have mattered
seems like bleeding from an orifice is about right
bet even kings have died like that
but people didn’t write the story down that way
told it prettier
told it like he kissed his wife
and baby and dog
and then expired with a wish for his countrymen
when really they just wiped up arse blood
and pulled a sheet over him
so yeah so well so what I might die like a pauper or a king
same thing
and I smile for that
then I lean an arm out
from under the warm covers
and the cold bites it
while I pat my dog
he seems to like it
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