Murder Plot

I bet you hear the racket/of those dead departed,/see the banners/of the filial ties-/they add up to grounds for murder./Everything in this world/hinges on a number,/the hum of an engine,/the touch of a knife that glistens/calmly resting on one knee./Put your mind at ease,/the muttering will wane,/hit the cashbox,/loot it of green bills and pesos./There was really no doubt you were lonesome.

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