A cloth cap on the ground inverted

becomes a begging bowl

guarded by a dog whose wants are sparsely served. 

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Imagine a tormentor - a sadist

invisibly at work, and though you have confessed

signed your life away you cannot be rid of him. 

There is no cure, no end to it, only moments of relief

when you can draw breath - and some comfort,

but that tormentor knows all the tricks

he has the permission of your immunity

condemning you like Judas Iscariot.

We call this rheumatoid art...

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