The Truth (A Poem)

## Who possesses An aura of underestimation, And yet bears no shadow of fabrication, even exaggeration, Who will always be a perennial virgin, From infant to spinster, In the absence of intercourse, With myth or fiction. Who is forever unclothed Not necessarily transparent, A woman that can hold no lover, Or bear no child, Who…

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Bed Bugs

## Your wife bids you ‘don’t let the bed bugs bite’ To the pathological insomniac Knowing those terse shoulders And uneasy feet are just aching From a bed bug attack. Only they are not Crafty insects just a little syndrome Of an overactive thyroid   You outpace everything around you Hyper is just a symphony…

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