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Idiosyncrasy
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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