I admit that after pizza and margaritas,
a hot ride in the sun on the way home,
five sets of weights and gathering signatures,
my mind is toast.
unbuttered, lacking a sweet spread of jam,
just dried up and slightly blackened,
there are no new thoughts, not an
ounce of creativity.
I hear the kids outside yelling through beer mugs
as they release pheronomes as young people do,
their minds don't work either,
only their bodies know what to do.
as does mine, to seek a soft comfortable
place to sleep.
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