I am going to walk the talk, trip my tongue
spitting blobs of blotting paper into the elevator
and up the 23rd floor
down the hall,past the butcher
number 33,with the war on the door
leading to recyclable souls
all reapers,grim grinning
empty containers
all the way to the bank
where interest stank
urine deepshit
i couldnt believe it
I could have been me
but went to school in good stead
only to play the fool
for the owl
what a hoot
..... a poem of sorts( D.Ryan)