The Last Original
She could feel the haughtiness
In his stare inject itself
A syringe of judgment
Directly into her sternum
Before her shoulders shifted
She tossed out the thought,
“Is it worth the hassle to invoke the
culture of wealth?” before it
quickly evaporated
See more progress on: write a (sloppy, half-formed if need be) poem every day (or so) during July 2010
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