Wooly Worm Invective Come to me my fuzzy little fraud that some lunkhead brown may think you're a sculpin headed upstream-- that when you stop, a stonefly nymph on steroids, or up close a freebie from a duck dropping. I know who tied you. He didn't even use a vice -- just his fingers in the back of his tackle shop while he shot the shit with strangers. No wonder that japanese model wore you home in her ear. Other Poems       Home