Compare it to the pool of thought,
and find it is a drop of water.
So what if sometimes
my guilty pleasure is I imagine me
doing everything you do.
Curiosity killed a fraction of cat.
I finally got my teeth fixed.
They’re not as white as printing paper.
More like a natural pearl.
I didn’t miss the point. The
one to my my own point. No.
I didn’t miss it. It’s been omitted.
There is another point, though,
and it’s not this:
This one time I had cancer.
I rarely talk about it.
It means so little to me,
beyond the fact it had happened to me,
and that I’ve yet to win a tour de france.
It wasn’t ball cancer, though.
Like his was. The cancer that I had.
And I’m hardly a cyclist.
Maybe if it was ball cancer, then
I’d have some need to compensate for
the one I’d’ve lost.
Then I’d win a Tour de France.
I’m sure of it.
If not that, at least, a super bowl,
or something else.
It was burkitt’s lymphoma.
The cancer that I had.
In any case I rarely talk about it.
I just spring it out on people
once every few blue moons.
They never know what to say.
I’m usually smoking a cigarette.