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Sunrise in my backyard this morning


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Oops...I was just rejoicing about oyster crackers in general (but I'm glad to hear they've made it to Columbus). :blush

:wub

Ode to Oyster Crackers

 

How we love thee

octagonal nuggets of bliss

to munch in solitude

or stir in chili and mix

 

though you may grow stale

by neglect or devise

your reputation won't pale

in inebriated eyes

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you know that feeling you get when you've got a lot of work to do, but can't do it because the machinery you need to use is being used by someone else. all day.

 

:omg

 

i am so ANSY right now :dancing

 

i am this close to breaking out my knitting right here at my desk.

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Always room in the world for an ode.

 

Ms. Yvon I sypathize with your work issues, I think breaking out the knitting is an appropriate and measured gesture.

 

Good evening to you all. What is the state of affairs in the Via Chicago universe?

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I think everyone should paint a painting at least once in one's life

 

I know no one as happy as she who sang her song loud and late in the night

 

But I can't place the nouns or verbs to express the longing I feel for your thoughts undressed

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I think everyone should paint a painting at least once in one's life

 

I know no one as happy as she who sang her song loud and late in the night

 

But I can't place the nouns or verbs to express the longing I feel for your thoughts undressed

 

Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly,

Asleep on the black trunk,

blowing like a leaf in green shadow.

Down the ravine behind the empty house,

The cowbells follow one another

Into the distances of the afternoon.

To my right,

In a field of sunlight between two pines,

The droppings of last year's horses

Blaze up into golden stones.

I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.

A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.

I have wasted my life.

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Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly,

Asleep on the black trunk,

blowing like a leaf in green shadow.

Down the ravine behind the empty house,

The cowbells follow one another

Into the distances of the afternoon.

To my right,

In a field of sunlight between two pines,

The droppings of last year's horses

Blaze up into golden stones.

I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.

A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.

I have wasted my life.

 

There is some wonderful imagry. Who penned it?

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I wish Survivor wasn't on at the same time as Earl or The Office. :hmm

we still have a straggling neighbor groop that likes Survivor

 

they were just over

 

they drank a lot of beer

 

they just left

 

I trid to watch SC/Auburn at commercials

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