Listen to poem:
Loser
Twirling whirly whiffle spots
Until the golden neon rots.
Baggy, red, balloon-pop eyes
Do shun the evil orb outside.
Resting in the toilet stalls.
Burning up with liver boils.
Rushing to the bandit now,
I slot another silver cow.
Who will buy my pocket-dust?
No fanny-waving, juggling bust.
Reality boards a bus to go
Dreaming high casino.
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