When you take notes you are not you

But a would-be gray non-conformist guy

Wearing pantaloons into early seventies,

The ones you reach way before your leg.

You collect  your notes in  a shirt pocket

To discard them when you reach home.

Or wear them like polka dots on your shirt

To hide the existence of tiny holes under.

As you take notes be adequately surreal.

You cannot make sense of life otherwise.


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