Monday, July 25, 2011


For the love of a duck
which has run a muck,
All the time thinking
it was just pot luck.
And now to be thinking
it was all bad luck
to ever have loved a duck.
and now my thumb is stuck.

Quack, quack!

so much like
her wicker basket
I, too, have become
a mere dried up
of my former self

a celebration 
of dried up sticks

stick it to me
I'm done

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