precise physical resemblance
proves nothing, dearie.
strong gift at the typer? pshaw,
don't get sentimental on me.
they surround his corpse
like feeding crows, you know,
all these failures and fuck-ups
fifteen times removed.
there must be some kind
of goddamn screening process.
can't throw ten thou at every
old drunk with a letter
that promises the world.
soon there would be nothing left.
except the books, of course,
yeah, except the books.
