a poem for today, 19 March 2012
[a word-sorted sonnet of 8 sentences and its image]
Get.
They call you 'diet bitch.'
You do the math before you open your mouth.
For better or for worse people will reveal themselves to you in time.
It'd be nice if we could also be wary of cognitive illusions that affect our reasoning apparatus.
The theory of the Communists may be summed up in the single sentence: ice cream is free and everybody gets laid.
They appear like angels under a sea of black umbrellas.
Readers looked up reproachfully, and the librarian reprimanded me, because in those days you weren’t even allowed to sneeze in a library, let alone weep.
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