By J. Lynne Moore
Voices speaking in the vent;
just squatters that pay no rent.
Called a taxi, but they won’t go;
seems I’m the star of this dog and pony show.
They lick my wounds,
and sing for me; self-righteousness tunes.
In my ear night and day,
not even the angels can keep them at bay.
They tell me they are just like Robin Hood;
believing their lies sometimes feels good.
Someday I may spit them out.
Eviction?….I’m not that stout.
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