Standard Anomaly

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I supped at the lip of a lethargy that shook a microbial world.

I rambled and gamboled through a cacophony not of my own.

I wore a shirt insulated with the hair of a lost dog that licked my hand and who I helped by pissing on every tree, fire hydrant and light pole we could find but his return route could not be mapped.

I fabricated a confabulated treatise but it was mistaken for a screed.

I intentionally use the word scrimshaw incorrectly.

I love you.

I drank firewater and rode off into the sunset then fell off the edge of the world.

I am disjunctive and once, in a former life, in matters of the heart, couldn’t see straight.

I wear corrective lenses but have a recurring dream where I always drive off the highway.

I hope you might be gay.

I mean happy.

I am always first in the series and somewhere there is a certificate of authenticity to prove it.

I miss you.

I support full disclosure but will not tell you my deep, dark secrets because neither of us has the security

clearance.

I am the standard anomaly, in this we are alike, you and I.

I am challenged by tense.

I sense a slight discomfort when we talk about anything other than you or me.

I wrote a poem about two turkey buzzards neither of whom spoke with British accents nor voted

Labour.

I don’t think mean people suck but secretly wish for them to be dragged slowly by cars through fake towns where empty apartments sit hollowly collecting dust above hamburger chains, pet stores and the places where we buy the things we see only when we turn out the lights.

I would never eat a hamburger chain but might consider eating a cheeseburger chain with lettuce, I

pickles, onions and ketchup aka “all the way”.

I hear the phrase “ad nauseum” and my stomach roils.

I think therefore I am for the time being.

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