The Cone of Death

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I do not like the cone of death,
Or the grim lines easily placed,
By men and women of lovely face,
I do not like the cone of death,
And will evacuate,
Finding a way,
To drag my dying weight,
Before the winds,
Begin to blow or ever abate,
No cosmological dictate,
Some weatherman’s whim,
An evil crimson sprawl,
This deathly pseudonym,
Rings, Howls, and Calls,
Like a phantom limb,
I do not like the cone of death,
This is my hurricane hymn.

–Richard Bryant

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