More Middle

Between the start and the end of everything,
is more middle than you ever wanna think about.


If you can’t call your partner in three words or less,
he ain’t coming anyway.


One anxious, neurological group, in one guy’s head, said,
regarding the kinds of thoughts that usually passed there through,
“At times I feel like a naked maitre’d at a homeless shelter.”


On a Friday, this one chap said his daily studies could lead him,
in all fairness, to make only this statement:
No one loves a smart ass but his mother…which can work out all right,
since a real good smart ass wouldn’t have a mother.


Only a weakened parent
would recognize its reflection
as a legitimate,
viable off-spring.




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