what was that? is that all there is? who is this? this is it.

Replying to judy, who said...

This is my poem: last word. It goes with the photo for November 1 (in my opinion, which is -- on the other hand --the only opinion I have). Game's on: Yell. Cheer. Time out: get beer. Open fridge. What's that? Smells sick. That's what. Sort of grey. Off. Dead. Like lasagna never had. Who'd have thought? What the fuck? One measly pound. Ground chuck.

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