Three Glazed Donuts Ago

A box of them,
Donuts,
Oh
no 
O

I
fell
into
their

v
o
r
t
e
x

specks of paint chips,
the solipsist sits
and says that
he and only 
he exists,
the rest
of us a
re not
hing
[Blech, 
excuse me, 
but selfishness 
makes me more sick 
and pissed than that time 
I kissed a string of groupies, t’was
this past Saint Patrick’s, Sincerely Yours

p.s. 
practice 
prophylactics

The End

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