Iron
Sunday did not pan out,
an iron faith faltered.
It was a wane wobble.
it was cellular rust,
it was not enough iron.
Iron pills rattle in me like BB pellets,
my stools are obsidian artifacts.
More red wine, less whine.
The day got no better,
anemic confusions swirled.
I sucked upon nuts and bolts,
listened to Metallica,
had to iron-out yet more
non-ferrous unpleasantness.
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