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Con-fused Poetry

October 18, 2010

In my hand is a fused incandescent bulb. When I shake it even slightly, a fragment of filament attached to one of the ends quivers non-stop like a worm having a long and acute seizure–is it OD-ing or something?

The coffee I’m having is strong and aromatic.

Ironic
that a fused bulb
gave me my most enlightening thought of the day.

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