Scheherazade called last night, with a tale
Of buffalo and bitcoin. I hung up.
Her name is Scam; her voice is far away
From Rocky Mountain vowels, her face as pure
As real-life happenstance, as blank as pie.
Next time she calls I’ll ask her, Have you more?
More rocs, more executions, warranties,
Or current offers? I am Old King Cole
And full of expectations unfulfilled;
But I can see the chambers where you toil,
A studio walled in silk, and those are pearls,
And these are bread and swine, Scheherazade.
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