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Nitty Gritty MAG
They twist my arms into comical shapes
At their pecks, my hopes go wormy and wet,
Their sad, bald heads pop like a fist of grapes.
Above my head, they cry a battle threat.
They caw to me that life is bittersweet
As they poke waxy beaks into my life
And dig their pigeon claws into red meat.
Their dulcet tones cut sharper than a knife.
They walk in my palate of reds and blues
And fit my aching back with wings of lead.
They've only given me the right to lose.
The Nitty Gritty hisses in my head.
It hooks its toothless gums around my ear
And teaches me to live my life in fear.