I Got The No Original Content Blues….. or everybody into the pool

A Pinch Of Salt The Wound

Measure Twice
Mention it once
A conversation
Calorie Free
Some trending
Diet of dialogue
A rash recipe

—–
mistaken for a missionary/ We thought that magic/ but our genuflecting didn’t play well in first class/ Our cross to bear/ Will say this, though/ The train schedule was gospel/ X’ing out each station/ and just on time….is was Easter savings time

The Cubs were on the radio, game tied in the fifth. Shiloh lay in late afternoon shade, steadily working a bone. There was a lake breeze, cool and constant. Maybe that’s what excited a squadron of butterflies to strafe me as I sat reading.

Then again, I believe the gods of Old Spice, straight whiskey, and short skirts were so displeased, as to conspire and jointly order those lepidopteron sorties, for I was reading poetry, and, shame of shames, poetry by women.

To Carolina beach music
I toasted your tan line
and had a fine time
at this or that place
your rhythm, my pace
to ebb tide with grace
and breakfast warmly

Tell

wired to
is just the
wonder of
being wired
to what
exactly

this post
a pretend
of personality
a low-info
bit and byte
of me

from wallflower
to Firewall
the introvert
his own domain
and hip to skip
the party line
wired to what
exactly

Room Service Rapture
Reading in rented terry cloth
Judas on per diem
Auditing the good news

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