Looks like I’ve got glue
in my shoes again, real spiritual.
Random barking episodes
are a constant lately, but
I’ll get the better of me
once the next dosage
establishes its dynasty.
The payload is a hung one.
Night is currently evolving.
What did you think was going to happen?
The longer I lug this disenchanted anvil
around the ubiquitous reptile brain,
the longer the meaning
of the circumstances becomes,
but in a slow drooling fashion
I couldn’t imitate if I tried.
Naturally, it can be pried
out of my sweaty hands with minimal effort.
Anyway… A clear head
indicates a clear schedule.
But I’m far too busy to elaborate.
Insert sympathy here.

-r. miller

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