Give them half of what they want.
Keep them coming
back for more
of what isn't yours to give.
A silver fish blinds the meek
with sunlight, doing eighty.
Cutting off your fellow man--
that isn't very Christlike.
They'll claim you've left them tender;
try to flatter you, coquettish
but you can't be very tender
while your hands are wrapping headboards.
They don't make splints for lingchi
with lungs that limit laughter.
If you're still you'll feel the earth spin.
It's scaphism, at best.
Someone pretty block the shrapnel.
Someone else can grab the cab fare.
It's the sand you chew in scallops
when you're dining with dessert.