Dead George


George is dead.
He died today.
Prostate prostrate in the clay
Dirt to dust
His lips dismay.
Rotten puss.
All goo and mess.
Cannot go well, dampening ill hell.
With his terrific georgicon smell

La Citea de Georges - a millennia later.
Man about town- somebodies pater.

Garcon!- over here waiter.
He'll pay the bill later.
He's been found!
Alive and well
Stalking the pavement for gratitude.
Walking the talking dog latitudes.

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