with 'I's in his tears
he arrived at the track
to gamble his guts and drink
abstract beverages
she had not counted him
with staunch efficiency
and this numerical oversight
might have persuaded another culprit
to examine his additional self
but this blubbering solipsist
inebriated spent and cowardly
has now gone face down
a subtracted stub beneath the urinal
and rather than rise for the race
with his attractive swagger
($100 on the filly to show)
he's crying singular 'I's
into a puddle of vomit and piss
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