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i can tell that you have been locked
inside this room
for days—most likely—in
a state of self-induced delirium

[delirium: (n) ambiguously-shaped monotony]

in silent autumnal wind-
swept mindset, I find you—

you, being that which I address
you, in all your posthumously
placed end-rhymes
[you: (n) a singularity, yet infinite]—

cowering fearlessly on top of
my cabinets, devouring whole
sentences and replacing cheerio
pieces with Alpha-bits—you

bastard.  you dare entertain such
paratactical fetishes in my living
room—c’est des conneries, mon ami.


Kevin B. Kane is an undergraduate Creative Writing major at the University of Colorado at Boulder. He is a professional mountain bike racer and spends his time outside of school racing and training with the US National Under-23 Team. He enjoys reading Edward Abbey and writing poetry about things he does not understand.

© 2010, Kevin Kane

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