Idiosyncrasy

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Spinning counterclockwise

wishing to know everything…
My synapses are popping
and snapping

and spent.

To clap and declare

belief in fairies
becomes habit

like all words do.
My

mind
doesn’t quite work right.
And until it does,

I’ll cackle and quote and crack my neck,
to fight off those
static pulses
in my wrinkled brain.


But for now I’ll ask you:

Is it weird that the word

“incest”

makes me think of

scented candles?





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