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There's No Fuel Like an Old Fuel
She took a stroll one moonlit night
in search of lumps of anthracite.
She knew that coal could soothe her soul:
one moonlit night, she took a stroll.
Insomniac, anaplasty
coal soothed her soul: but she knew she
would need, to get her nostrils back,
anaplasty. Insomniac,
obsessed with smoking magic weed,
to get her nostrils back, she’d need
a plastic surgeon – but the best!
With smoking magic weed obsessed,
she’d need a reconstructed nose.
The rhinoplastor whom she chose
loved coal, and gave her, quick as thought,
the reconstructed nose she sought.
Copyright ©
Michael Coy
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