this, conditional probabilityA Poem by h d e rushin
I had imagined and was I so wrong about the food stamps; about how they had made for the cushions
of the wicker furniture to burst. Although the chair could be saved, a tactile process of Time magazines and sympathetic
old sweaters, the couch was unsalvageable. Don't weep. It looked good in 98 with those polite table settings, spoons
with thick green wooden handles. But quickly gave way to sentimental evenings of eating frenzies, full length feature movies,
the intrusion of Doritos, gravity, some oral sex, smart dexterous Chinese construction, the epigone outgrowths
of thighs and feathers, adjacent barbs, (the interlocking tits of a tital), spandex that came from the sea bottom,
addictions to bee pollen-green coffee been extract- Atkins-whole life-P90X-Shawn T- Hydroxicut-ab machine warfare.
And its remarkable that it lasted this long since nothing else ever does. You were so much smaller 15 years ago.
And so was I.
Smaller. © 2014 h d e rushinFeatured Review
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Added on June 23, 2014Last Updated on June 23, 2014 Author
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