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[Portage, January 26, 2010]

Short songs strike as hard
As twisted punches,
Accreting details and blows,
Dulling the brain into epiphany,
Blinding belief / or out on your tootsies,
Either way, stumbling for purchase,
Something solid to cling to or lie upon,
All great things seem demonic
In their aftermath. 
In our world of twitter and tweet
Is the past a form of twat, or whot? 
The dog captured and ate a mouse
The other day; crunch-crunching
Tiny bones with relish; I imagine
God watching Haiti collapse
With a Heaventini (shaken not stirred)  in hand.
Did he think for a moment, “Who, shoulda
maybe picked another place?”
Nah, not him. Shit happens,
Body count mounts, you know
Soul-ly because of him some insist,
Praise god! Takbir! Roll Tide!
Go Packers! Rickety rackety ree,
Kick ‘em in the knee! and like that.
Hair and bone in the dog’s turds due any day.
Who deficates the rest of us when we cycle through
And where do we get deposited? 
In the world of twitter and tweets
Is the past a form of twat, or whot? 
Now I lay me down to sleep.
“Yo, kid, you might croak tonight,
So you pray good, sayin?”
Hello, are you Dog Star?
What misanthropic moron
Created this verbal nightmare
For children? 

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