Liar Salon

Local oval, singing in line,
One in audience, double check, press
select, dead a debt if it lets–
Singular chemistry, tables periodically,
let me flee, or see, whatever feels better,
Read the Times, once waiting, billing a

Sales sounds; bells usually, then paper,
the gritty mini typewriter. Thank you,
they usually say. But not
this morning, for some reason,
can’t blame them really.
Lady with purse walks by,
annoyed at something,
think it’s contagious,
Must be with this speed.
What song is this, it’s
of nailed chalkboard orb.
Absorb, forced to,
Bills due,
and I have to be on grounds soon.
Yes, I’ve
caught it.

Proofread in

(9:07AM, 4/19/14)