A Death-Bed - Poem by James McLain
No one wants to sleep in this bed but some must.
The state has a taste for pasty death.
Witnesses testified as much and so they should.
Pale well fed better than some on the streets.
Muscular arms full of veins law-i.v. school.
Politicians racking up points in the polls.
Faces pressed against the window payne.
The lights never dim as once again they did.
beneath his neck as eyes begin to flutter.
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