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February 20, 2014

Waxing quizzical,
the actor not physical,
although apparently bright,
a drug did him in
'twas named Heroin
and at it was bye-bye, good night.

It seemed in this caper,
these thin pencils sliced paper
so of that death we couldn't write;
but the news of the day
had with first dibs held sway
and thus made the writer uptight.

Of all the stupid happy horseshit, along comes this intervening, wholly unrelated thought: then, as quickly as it had arrived, it was gone like a fart in a breeze.

Which thought? That one that slithered away just now. Poof! For naught!