what would you pay for a scam
to lift you off the back page of
anonymity – boldly launch you
into life as a poetic celebrity?
the fee’s lame-duck-ass integrity
in tatters – meaningless as the
random IP addresses appraising
a wholly imagined faux esteem
amazingly numbers seem more
meaningful to your peers than
words written; be that as it may –
who actually reads them anyway?
© 4 October 2008, I. D. Carswell
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