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Image for the poem The Last Stooge

The Last Stooge

His words travel these ducts at the oddest hours
Cool air displaced as they go by
Delusions on the tip of his tongue
Demanding a blood sacrifice

Could be he released a plague
Left to his own device
It's hum heard right through the wall
As hairline cracks go fissure

War be with my neighbor mine
Undeclared by local law
Say adios to the diplomats
Ignored by the last stooge standing.

Dedicated to the fool next door.
Written by crowfly
Published
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