Internal Pressure

III
Coffee stain halo hanging ’round his head,
The taste of ammonia down his throat as he inhales the smoke instead
Of the stale air around his lips, fresher than the internal pressure that has him tightening his grip.

Slip slide pride finds delight behind their eyes,
See him somehow as a prize, but he’s determined to set them right.

She practiced punctuation like a silk dancer dangling between two jets at top speed,
Top rung, top gun, top shelf for topics drawn like Avalon,
Soliliquouys in celluloid devoid of actions non persona,
accords for quotas, that’s all she rotas,
Motives for managers devoid of expectations
That saw the situation as a place for affectations,
Delayed at stations bordering inoperative,
That rectified the victory by merely being dominant.

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