Puddles of
at first knee-deep,
and then they disperse.

they begin to evaporate
as quickly as they occur.

they occur random,
like a flight of birds.

I try to gather them together
they overflow-between my
into the emptiness-
nothing much or less,
then puddles
of mud,
that cake my mind-
into an eternity

of endless rhyme
and silly poetry.

Least am I ever tempted,
to take myself, one bit,
too seriously.

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