A Boy And His Cat In A Cone Plastic Hat – (poem re-visit with audio read)

Ok, so a re-post in the Attic here for a dVerse Poets open link night, where you can contribute/link any poem of yours that you would like or you can choose to write something new to whatever that week’s open link prompt may be.

Now, I’ve never written anything new in response to that night’s prompt though I do recall maybe using one of those prompts and writing something new to it later on, and I’m pretty sure I’ve never contributed anything in the way of a link to an older piece of my mine though on that point I am not entirely confident as I’ve wanted to post this particular one for a while so part of me forgets as to whether I actually did.

If so, my apologies, but I can be sure that even if I have already I didn’t post the audio of my read along with with it and that helps, by the way, as it is a bit long.

Whatever the case may be, here is my Seussian-like Ode to a dear, dear Orange friend of mine that I wrote for him back in 2019 a few years after he had passed.

His name was “Shoes”.

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February, 2019

For three plus years now I’ve had this single line rattling round my noggin, bumping into shit. “A Boy And His Cat In A Cone Plastic Hat.” A Dr Seussian type line that has never let me be. I’ve written many a word around it in my head over these years as I remember Shoes and the walks he and I would take around the drive/roadway and parking lots that circled our apartment complex during his last month or so. It was a time for me that was as equally heartbreaking as it was wondrous. I know I’ve brought up Shoes often, enough so that it may seem tired, but he was one of those friends that needs be remembered and brought up often for what he was. A reminder of who we are. A reminder of what is/was true. I think, maybe, I’ve finally got this down now. Bear with me.

A Boy And His Cat In A Cone Plastic Hat Audio

A Boy And His Cat In A Cone Plastic Hat

There was a boy and his cat in a cone plastic hat
Who found themselves walking this way and way that
In circles round home on a night by night trip
He talkin’ cat list’nin’
At a calm peaceful clip


You see


The boy’s cat in this cone plastic hat was not well
And the boy he had many long stories to tell
To his dearest of friends of 11 grand years
But trying to do so without shedding his tears

So they walked and he talked on these perfect (s) of nights
Allowing this cat in the cone plastic hat
Some flights
Footed outside
For the first time in his life
A gift from the boy to this cat’s great delight

And the cat in the cone plastic hat listened just right
Though now minus one ear from a Doctor’s try stop
The other had might
Enough to catch stories spun high in the air
By his boy who he followed with great love and great care

Along their way they passed people and pets
Both large and both small
To the cat in the cone plastic hat though
They were all tall
But he came to grow big as they petted and gushed
With attention he loved
As they marveled his gifts to walk with no rush
With his boy who just smiled some big hearty hugs

This cat in the cone plastic hat waited by day
For the sound of boy’s car
To home come from what seemed so
So far
Far away
To make
Way
Stairs
Down,
No dilly
No dally
As time for him was no longer an ally

You see

The cat in the cone plastic hat knew he hadn’t this time
He wanted their friendship to grow and to shine
But for this shortest of moments
In the grandness of things
They would stride steady together with the greatness of kings

It was stories of boy that were of utmost import
In walks round their round he would offer support
While cat sniffing cat checking
Getting caught in the brush
His cone plastic hat it was flush
Filled with tales flung way far
That dearly so meant
So,
So much

There was even a day
This cat in the cone plastic hat
Got chance just to play
And to lead while, of course, always knowing the way
Minus his hat
Oh glorious day
Then bringing boy back to that place they called home
Where all with the boy it was always the known

But there were things this cat in the cone plastic hat knew needed be said
Of what would become in his absence of stead
Of what boy would do after the gone
Where time it would shorten but still feel so
Long

The cat in the cone plastic hat knew just what
What knew of just such
What knew sure of be that too long
A day
To help him stay strong
To make it not much
He’d say

Goodbye
He thought
In life’s wonder of walks
This cat who was now at in his cone plastic hat
But remembering time where this wasn’t just that
When play was a shoelace tossed long and just right
For wondrous of times and of silly fun fights
Of a mouse down to chase
Or a titter hand tat
And all while wearing no such special hat

But paw forward he would
This way and way that
His best boy in the world as well as he could
To friends who he knew he should
Surely point true
To others in fur and some so in skin
But still remind them that his name was Shoes

Always Shoes

You see

He resides now in heart held so very so strong
Of a nightstand’s still perch
Sensing short winded nightmares long
So sudden jerks
To come down and so sweetly lay to boy’s left
To calm him to know that all was still well
That there would still be so many more stories to tell
That there will always be some more to be said

Now sleep just go back
“We’re hittin’ the rack”
As you always would say
Ahead of tomorrow’s a brand new grand day
Rest your boy head
The begin has its end but ends beg begin … always
Get some sleep for right now
At least
My dearest of friends

Can We Whistle? (solidarity) – (poem)

From Grace at dVerse Poets this week she prompted of poems of questions.

“Today, we shift the focus from poetry form to craft style. Specifically: poems built around questions that remain unanswered.”

So, one here then with just one overriding question.

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Can We Whistle? (solidarity)

Can we all whistle while

they work at whistling

in bitter climate

of fear

loss

whistling a new work whistle out of pocket out of heart out of anger gig economy of

whistle walking with intent, purpose

of community

humanity

no freedom’s thievery to mask

here

whistling OF the wind

with the wind

down the wind

up the wind

sideways wind’s angers past fresh graveyards

whistling still in the woods

but

worth a whistling’s

raised hand at the station

to halt the train of dark history’s whistle stops

and its dogs

whistled to existence again

.

Can we all whistle?

The 3:05a to Somewhen (prosery)

A “prosery” prompt at dVerse Poets from Mish.

The Prosery is to write a short, 144 word piece of prose (not including the title) while including a line of poetry. The line here? “Lips forget what they have kissed” from Toni Morrison and “Eve Remembering”.

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The 3:05a to Somewhen

“Are you sure you want to do this? … well, I can hear you breathing … and you haven’t said no, so … you know where. 3:02a sharp with a 3 minute window. And just the empty clothes on your back and NO memories on your implant, just the ones we’ll give you. I’ll be scanning.”

“I’ll be there. 3:02a.”

He knew this could get him terminated, instantly, in the there/now before he left or the there/when he was heading, but he had to get out, escape, had to try, and he’d hidden it deep … real deep.

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“A third scan? Seriously?”

“Something’s off.”

“It’s almost 3 minutes.”

A violent wind arrived.

Shouting …

“DAMMIT! YOU KNOW YOU’LL NEVER WAKE IN THE WHEN WITH A STOWAWAY!!”

“BUT YOU DON’T REALLY KNOW THAT DO YOU?!!”

“LIPS FORGET WHAT THEY HAVE KISSED!!”

“NOT DOGS!”

The Flower (poem)

A new Quadrille prompt at dVerse Poets from De (WhimsyGizmo) earlier this week.

The 44 word poem to include some use of one word from the prompt, in this case, “Flower”.

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The Flower

The flower did not ask  

be miracle or mourner

epiphany or eulogy

congratulator or apologist

be poem, painting, song

just shared breath

in rainbow fields, floppy hatted gardens, sidewalk cracks

it did not expect

being muse  

of life and death

but it reached

then

The Snow Was 17 Feet (poem)

For a prompt of “Snow” from Kim at dVerse Poets and a now new poem version of a little remembrance I wrote a number of years ago of when I was a kid, after a big snow, and got my first scars, and a piece that I just recently re-posted.

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The Snow Was 17 Feet

The snow was tall

taller still in my small

17 feet

maybe

it had to be

at least

but I would climb it

cross it

on top to its peak

reach for now shorter trees to climb, view from above

with determined scarved stare

and new purpose swim goggles

in imagined funny tennis racket shoes (regular boots)

just like in TV shows of winter

with penguins

and white bears

and whiter void horizons

and shout to other snow still falling that I was their King

each and every flake

joining brothers and sisters that had played pile on

in the night

at my door

with a glass view of my calling kingdom

and I pushed and fussed and shoved and punched

“Let me through snow … I am King!”

until my view shattered and polka dotted

the front step’s landscape

and little glinting reflections

of broken, jagged sky laughed

and small kings found that they bleed

and scar

but

in an always reminder of snow 17 feet

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2026 is here and a post revisit – The Snow Was 17 Feet

Pre Order Your Today (poem)

On an out front sign at a garden center that I pass in my daily travels, missing an “s” as well as any item(s) in particular for this pre-order.

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Pre-Order Your Today

A garden center sign proclaimed

“Pre-Order Your Today”

a missing ‘s’ offering  something totally new

on my way yesterday

to a regular day

at my desk, next to a soft lamp I added

in front of daily news’s updated, breaking pain

under a calendar

of family smiles my sister had made

to mark time with memories of days

past

but passed well

to watch over me

and pained starts to days

and I thought if I had pre-ordered

from that garden center

this today

maybe it would be green and sprout and branch and reach

instead,

intelligent

organic

something the owner directed me to in the back with a wink

and a quiet finger to his lips

knowing I needed pre-order something special

a brand new today

one to grow and offer sway

on this day, on its own

not die

like so much of these days

one with common magic

even

like a flower poking out at the end of its reach, purpose

and that

as just a start

2026 is here and a post revisit – The Snow Was 17 Feet

Well, we’re all good for another holiday season, we’ve celebrated surviving 2025 (definitely considered “survival” of a year that will not be remembered well in the annals of history, actual history – hopefully we’ve been charitable and compassionate and thoughtful and truthful and dare I say, human, to counteract that … so far) we’ve added a few things to our stash of things while adding some things to other people’s stash of things, some things probably already forgotten until months from now when we will discover them as surprise brand new things and we are getting ready to return to our regulars where we will surely miss the anticipation of short weeks and probably REALLY quickly … like Monday at around 9:02am, or maybe 9:15am after you’ve toasted your bagel and hopefully haven’t had to curse at forgetting to bring in the cream cheese you bought on Friday on the way home (leave a note now dude!).

But on this Sunday morning at the end of the season I thought to just sit for a little, read a few bits of mine and also check my WordPress Stats just to see what posts have been viewed or even “liked” recently as I have mentioned and done in the past. Now, obviously, there are recent ones that will have gotten some attention but I will also often find, when I do this, at least a couple of older pieces that someone or someone’s have somehow found to view.

I don’t really know how people come about some of these older posts other than maybe randomly searching the Attic, which is great if so, though certainly not through tags as I am no good at remembering to keyword hashtag anything, for the most part, but I am also not really going to question as, well, it’s just cool and I’ll leave it at that, plus it reminds me of where my head and I were at depending on the time or place of the post.

So, that’s what I have today, a revisit of a post from around this time of year in 2020. A pretty good post too, as I re-read it this morning, and one that has some moments still pertinent to today as well.

Plus, I also didn’t really have anything new so …

Oh, and Happy Happies all.

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The Snow Was 17 Feet

December 12, 2020

The snow was tall, just tall enough tall it needed to be against the front door to keep it from opening as I remember now, though 17 feet at least it seemed in my kid head then, though bear in mind that my tall was small (but with hope of a big someday). I was only six or seven or so and I was mad. My parents had just bought their first house, a something numbered address on Archer road in Mahopac NY with me in tow. But I was mad, not the mad that some might attribute to me and my now of cats, a crazy cat lady guy mad and a need for solitude away from a mad, mad, mad, mad world, that kind of mad, but with a just being mad … why the fuck can’t I open the front door to the glories of snow?

I hate snow, or at least I hate it now, the cold that it is and the down of that cold, the darkness of a light’s short days that come with it. But, again, I was six or seven or so. Snow was a wonder then, something just waiting for the play.

It certainly, the snow, wasn’t 17 feet tall but, it feeling taller than me, it could have been 30 feet, or a hundred feet, or a however many feet that were necessary to dwarf me. It was as far away as just a glass door, that extra door that you doored along with an already perfectly good door, one that could become a screen though, in the summer months, for a bit of air and I pushed, pushed against not 17 feet of snow, but enough, against the door, a silly angry kid pushing against a door. And I even had my snow boots on. Ready. Go. Snow.

Man, that shit could bleed, knuckles, after the mad and its push to open a door that didn’t want to be opened, a door that just said “leave me be son”, “I’ve been holding this off all night”, “have ya seen the snow? It’s almost 17 feet.”

That was my first scar, scars actually, one atop each hand. A fist knuckles and a hard push. The only thing missing was the adult exclamations that would come years later for all of the times snow or anything of the sort would be 17 feet tall.

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Jonna and Keryl give me a pass, I think, as to our guests. It’s a show, “Happy Hour”, that we’ve been doing since dinosaurs searched out self help gurus to ask of what to do for their inadequacies, “I’m too big with short arms”, “Mom wasn’t around for the long names that would come based on my bones”, “I was a vegetarian though three stories tall and a bit ungainly”. They know I’ll never read the books from these guests, I can’t, I don’t read anything that isn’t filled with the wonder of places imagined, some of swords and kings, some of spaceships and distant planets, all of a simply not here, instead of just “self help” vagaries that tell you of who you could be if only you could be someone else just like you, but different (especially after buying a book). But surprisingly, some things, even in my cynicism seep through, our guests, all, have their moments for me. I Just patch them together, grab bits and pieces that may mean something and move forward. A lot of them are the same, some just a more well known, more established name “same” than others but, really, the same. But I grab that patchwork, a workable patchwork mind you, and roll. No need more.

Recently in one of our shows Jonna talked of finally wanting to write her own book. A something she has in her, like Keryl who has two now, Jonna’s Facebook posts evidence of the writer.

Jonna, if you’re going to write a book please don’t think of it as the topic of a future interview for a podcast with a couple of cool ladies and some dude interviewing for advice within a small world of such. Just write your book and a just you book. Write too much, exaggerate often with sly smirk, but just be a book that books as a Jonna book would book.

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Bella has one PC chair while I sit in the other. I have two. I know, Mr. Fancy pants huh? One is the “Shoes” chair the spot he owned from the moment I took it out of the box years ago and laid my thin Steelers blanket on it after trying not to have any pieces left over in my assembly. Then there’s the one slowly becoming the “Bella” chair as I sit on all nights and she sits with me after a dinner shared with Cricket the Blind on her foot recognized paper towel for the small fork cuts of extra dinner to come and an attempt at the same with Mimi the Quirky (successful if it’s chicken).

Bella is the most patient of cats, there’s not a of one of us who couldn’t be better off with the kind of patience she shows, not being terribly fond of Cricket the Blind and only minding Mimi the Quirky, she exhibits her patience just for me, holds back any anger she may have at these “others” who have invaded our space taking attention away from her belly rubs on her dot of a small bit of circle carpet in the living room I never use in this two room place or another rubbed belly on her chair or even on her crunchy paper (my Sister sends powdered vitamins once a month worrying of my poor diet and possible vitamin deficiencies in a box that doesn’t really need any packing but she still does with that hard edged brown paper stuffed to the left or right of that packing box, depending on how you opened it – I think she’s fully aware it’s not needed but packs it just the same – she knows cats). It’s Christmas day every month for Bella when I get my vitamins and she gets a new lay on fresh crunchy paper splayed out next to last month’s flattened such.

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I know this is a little disjointed, but it’s one of the ways I think, in short blurbs of thoughts but strung together in pieces and with many run-ons of current things or memories that may not be connected or just might be (usually are). This one is the latter but it’s where my thoughts were this weekend, as some of you might be able to relate to disjointed thoughts, the brain being a bit of jumble during the upside down we live in. But it is a weekend where I’ve taken Monday off to give me 3 days, to at least breathe a bit (though apparently not to get my thoughts into any coherent form). I get 3 weeks a year of vacation time, or PTO for those technical. 15 days to do with as I will. I do this once a month and this month is a bonus with the holidays to come giving me a couple of others. I almost feel guilty knowing that the holidays will afford me my once a month two extra times without paperwork but I’m not going to let that deter. A once a month Monday is a once a month Monday, the holidays are just gravy. Could I take a week at some point, call it a vacation, sure. But I’m a single dude always strapped for $$ and I have my charges. Plus, where am I going to go, especially now?

Some of you might be alright with believing a normal exists but I’m not a one and it doesn’t.

There’s so much that is 17 feet tall, hell, most of our lives are spent trying to deal with stuff that is 17 feet tall, a seemingly insurmountable task of too tall walls, placed there daring us to scale maybe even bloodied knuckles to come from the attempts.

But I’m in no mood to scale today. This is simply my acknowledgement of such. 17 feet? I gotcha. Tall you are. But I’m just gonna take an extra day and sit and surveil a tall wall for no reason other than no reason, and hunker a bit away, just me and the girls.

(extinction of useless lights) … Night Approaches Then (poem)

Just before Christmas there was one last Open Link Night for 2025 at dVerse Poets and it was hosted by Grace. At open link night you can link any poem you would like or you can respond to a mini prompt offered.

The mini prompt for this night was for the image below,  “Extinction of Useless Lights” by Yves Tanguy (1927)

  1. Use the image as a muse for your poem. Write an ekphrastic poem (a vivid description of a scene or, more commonly, a work of art).
  2. Or use the title of the image as a title or part of your poem: Extinction of Useless Lights.

But I’m just coming about the prompt now as I knew dVerse was taking a break for the holidays so I hadn’t checked in and, though I obviously missed the deadline for submitting with all the others, I still wanted to do something with it.

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(extinction of useless lights)Night Approaches Then

The sun cast shadows

in its decline

stretched to the east as if calling

to the shapes of souls

he helped to exist

while he could

to not linger long

in the waste

or try hide in the bramble

as it would offer no haven

from the heaven’s judgement

or angry devils from the depths

reeling in the sky like a kite forced back to earth

pulling darkness behind

until the sun passed away

trying as he might

and the shapes,

the souls,

lost their day

to night

I Opened My Mouth And The Devil’s Voice Fell Out (There’s Somethin’ Goin’ Around)

Note/Warning: Overwriting fun

So on a recent Monday I got up with a reluctant sigh, a more reluctant sigh than the usual as I hadn’t slept all that well all weekend, more not “all that well” than said usual, whispered (grunted) my normals to Cricket and Bella and stood up (yay, I did it again, and still above ground too … bonus!!) and went about my morning business. Trudge upstairs with a towel, wave to my Sister’s gang, Arthur, Saphira and Rikki the Raspy, grab a shower and then trudge back downstairs though a bit more pleasant for the smells now for any possible downwind passerby.

Then …

  • finish drying
  • put underwear on while standing, something I am very proud these days that I am still able to accomplish without losing my balance and almost toppling over, though that doesn’t include the occasional getting your first foot stuck in them as that’s an any days, any age possibility and well, slapstick of new one legged dance moves can be funny (somebody call the Tik Tok, just speak Billionair-ese and add a Chinese accent – I’ve hit on a possible craze) sweatpants and sneakers next that I have already thrown on the bed to wait for me which are then applied in an appropriate manner that won’t garner any strange looks at the convenience store or phone calls to HR after I get to work.
  • rinsing cat bowls at the utility sink in the laundry room then (don’t judge … the paint stains are pretty old) and picking a food choice from atop my small fridge cache of cat food cans for the girls, eventually tapping one and then opening it under Bella’s nose to make sure it passes the appropriately stinky enough for cats cat approval test which is usually a once quick lip smacking Bella tongue which will never cease to make me smile, even on rough mornings, and then it’s cat noses down.
  • almost done, dressed, heavy hoodie on and then grab my phone for one of two things, neither of which, by the way, are to check for texts or emails or social media posts or anything of the sort that may have come from the outside world while I was sleeping poorly or maybe something I had missed (though, believe me, whatever it may be, if so, it definitely wasn’t “missed”).

There isn’t really any single thing that I care enough about, other than my Sis and the gang, that I will find it necessary to start my day by checking to see if it reached out or just to see what it was doing in its little corner of the world. Hell, it could even actually be something that I may need to be concerned with and needs to be addressed but no one needs THAT to start the day right? Waaaay too many possibilities. Let me at least get to the car so I can start cursing at people, you know, warm up a bit to the day before I need to begin “dealing” with shit, maybe even its (yours).

No, I grab my phone for two things. One, to re-turn on the strips of LED lights that outline this basement room of mine, something nephew Matt put up when he and Jake were younger and this basement was their game room. It’s pretty cool, to tell ya the truth, with so many color choices and brightness settings, that I wonder how I ever lived without them before, like I could have perpetually been the twelve or so year old Matt when he first strung them about.

Two, hit the little microphone and ask Google lady to tell me what the forecast is going to be for today but, on this morning, I was totally unprepared for the voice that would fall out of my face to ask the question. There almost seemed to be a hesitation to google ladie’s response and then an almost wary “the forecast today is calling for skin melting temps in the mid millions, and rivers of fire and rains of molten lava … Sir”

Whoa!!! What the fuck? I could almost swear I wasn’t possessed when I turned off Matt’s cool LED lights last night before I hit the rack as the voice I had, or wished I didn’t have, didn’t even sound human.

Now, I have had some interesting voices over the years that usually come with being the result of vice or are an indicator of a soon to be sick that have sounded pretty rough, there have even been times where I actually was possessed and the voice could be a bit otherworldly and menacing but things were always worked out, trades were made, but nothing like this. No, this was unlike any other sound that had ever fallen out of my face and probably explains why the wary sounding Google lady gave me a forecast quite Hellish and even called me “Sir”. If for nothing else, I have a new AI acolyte (and one not regulated at the state level which is a bonus) but this was even worse than when Peter Frampton and other bands discovered the vocoder back in the 70’s.

Then the phone call came to tell me to expect a letter.

A cease and desist phone call telling me to expect a cease and desist letter, and a one trying to sound very legal-like but really just sounded like a guy named Vinny, warning me that if I continued to use the voice that I only now just discovered I possessed, was seemingly possessed by, that the legal ramifications would be harsh and that the somewhat equitable trades, like those in the past just wouldn’t be enough this time. No, there would be no swaps now. No future children would be accepted, no souls would be saved even at the expense of my own (though we did have a spirted, however brief, discussion as to this whole “soul” concept, though his hard cut definition definitely topped my more existential one).

Oh, and my kneecaps would probably find themselves to be of issue.

I just …

dyyyyyyyyooooooo555555555555555555555555555555555555tttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttuuuuuuuuu7777777777777777777777777777777777777777777721qqe4444444444444444411111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111113777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777

(Cricket!! Not now kid!! Bad timing … talking to the Devil’s people at the moment!)

… deferred, apologized and promised that I had no real intention of impersonating the devil himself. It did though make me rather useless for the day in my job as a radio guy as using my voice is kind of a prerequisite for the job.

Eventually my actual voice started to return a few days later and I was able to get back to things, though with lesser voice in hand and record, though quite raspilly, a radio show that I do with a couple of dear friend co-hosts and have for years now, the early portion of which did revolve around my suspected possessed voice and possibly just attributing it to being part of the winter season and the sniffles and colds that can come, though a bit extreme.

“Frankenberry” said one co-host “The Devil falling out of your mouth, that voice?”

… and here it came

“It’s been goin’ around”

Oh, son of a bitch!

Seems no matter the situation, no matter the ailment, no matter the no matter …

“Hey, you sound a little rough”

“Yeah, a bit of a cold thing maybe”

“Its been goin’ around”

“Seems my allergies are acting up”

“Yeah, pollen, it’s Spring, it’s been goin’ around”

“Hey did you hear Bill lost his leg in a car accident?

“Yeah, lost limbs, it’s been goin’ around”

“It was a Big Bang and shit collided in just the right way and there was a primordial thing with bellies and tails onto a shore on a new planet in its new cosmos”

“Yeah, that’s been goin’ around”

“Been channeling the devil’s voice lately”

“Yeah, it’s been goin’ around”

… and then suddenly I had the measles and small pox and polio all of which were “goin’ around” and RFK Jr laughed creepily and raspy-like wile noting that we could be friends in voice and also just because I wanted to get a dig in at RFK Jr and, by extension, this whole dumb-ass world we live in right now.

The dumb?

Yeah, it’s been goin’ around … a LOT of dumb.

So?

Well, that’s all I got.

Good luck though, shit’s been goin’ around.

Words of the Year (poem)

A bit of a stream to some of the latest words of the year …

Mirriam Webster – Slop

Oxford – Rage bait

Dictionary dot com – 6-7

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Words of the Year

The words of the year explain themselves clear

according to dictionaries that steer

you in direction

backwards

to remind

forward

of the slop of illusion

add to confusion

as that is the way

these days

to keep you in time

in doomsday clock line

but wish this wasn’t such

a day

to bait rage

rage bait

as you weren’t all that angry before

you thought

but now find the children

could answer questions that are maybe 6-7 tall

instead

or

of no height at all

or

even just 6-7

trying to remind that you just don’t get it

but

maybe they will

and can

answer the call

maybe even at 6-7

some all

of nothing

or something

that you can’t