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Some More Things You Do Not Know About Me

Today I stayed the day in my pink pyjamas. Night is now about to fall and catch me with them on.

I uttered not one word. I wrote a poem.

I brewed builders tea deconstructed a recipe spilled soup on the pilot light; did a basin of hand washing,

said nothing.

Yesterday I declined to return a smile from a socialite. I did not plastic-smile back nor swap dry biscuit remarks.

Did not kiss the air all furious.

One opportunity missed.

Nothing, alas, to be done about it.

I value my silent days. In the ground of my being I have raised a small one-room wattle and daub hermitage.

Here I am a solitary weeper till friend Father Louis comes. We choir he sings lead he was a cantor I cant.

He’d laugh at that, rolling guffaw of a holy fool laugh.


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