Wednesday, March 4, 2015

The Itch


I sat drinking sadness at an outdoor cafe
In philosophical Europe
The ogre of love approached my table
It had four legs (the table)

I wasn't in the mood for a lecture
Having just attended one
On the subject of microtelepathy
(The reading of tiny minds)

Also I had an itch the size of a couch
Whose location I couldn't place
So just to be safe
I scratched my whole body

"Let me guess, it didn't work"
Said the ogre, loving all over me
"Let me scratch you . . . metaphorically"
I wasn't in the mood for metaphor

So I put on the scowl of the century
And left before the ogre
Could say any words to me
In terms of wisdom or whatever

At that point I was ready
For another madcap adventure
But then I decided
That would be "pushing it"

Instead I just walked and felt existential

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