Diary Dearie

This is the diary of my limbic system:

Took out your letters and photos and kissed them;

Took out your statues and started to dust them;

Nearly wrote you a note, as that is my custom;

Hated a little your lovers, the whole roster;

Took out the cutest lover and flossed her;

Put her back and cried, rockabilly hiccoughs;

Spared one evil thought to you random pickups;

Took out your current wife and nearly smacked her;

Didn’t, although she definitely was a factor;

Remembered your words, shallow, unfair and low;

Cried a little, remembered I had some Merlot;

Remembered what day it was in my lunar rhythm;

Remembered my breathing exercises and breathed them;

Listened to L.A. Woman, noblesse oblige, and

This, my friend, is the story of cold fission.

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4 thoughts on “Diary Dearie

  1. Anya, I love your writing! …which I know you are sick, sick, sick of hearing, but there you have it. It needs to be in a book of short stories and poems. I’ll work on a title since I know you are too busy what with the constant chaos of munchkinville and all. There you have it! No, I mean there’s the title: “There You Have It” Okay, I’m done running your life for the moment and shuffling back over to my own can of beezwax.

  2. P.S. The photo is explosively funny, completely capturing the angst-y mood of your clever, witty rhyming sequences. (You really must tell me sometime how you were able to pull off that perfect blank stare, one I have tried, yet never been able to capture.)

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