poem: floppy and furry and full-up of spines

floppy and furry and full-up of spines
offer a soft appetizer for lunch
star-studded tongue licking way out of line
crack that old mystery based on a hunch

flesh is so filthy I’m starting to rot
one thousand mushrooms per cell of my skin
can’t this old horse do much more than just trot?
is it the same to give up as give in?

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