Wholesale Sales

How to avoid
the loss of the
wide-jawed fleamarket
of wholesale sales?
How to skip
the tight rope
of night dope
and cheese?
Who've we to please?
And if he/she
looks down
with a cavernous frown
and tears sink
our thoughts
and thinks
who are we-
what else can we see?
There's nowhere to flee.
You cannot flee.

poem written by JASON PAUL FOX.
You MUST credit my authorship when reproducing this poem in any way!

Violators are prosecuted, no joke!
I'm living off the generosity of plagiarists now!
(It's OK to give my poem to friends or people at school, if you credit me and don't make money off it)