Haven't You Heard?

1/7/2011, 7:59 AM

Friday morning. Epiphanies are so yesterday.

Were I at the helm of a class, I would use my fescue apparatus on a wall-mounted calendar to signify that "Here  [THWACK!] is where we commence the vertiginous slide into sub-Arctic delirium." 

The storm windows are covered with frost; this saddens me, as I've got a 9:00 meeting, and it's outside of the house. I will adopt an apocryphal optimism that will sustain me for at least the first 5 outdoor steps that I take.

In any case, I've chosen to post a poem here. It's old, but we're all aging irreversibly. At least winter ends, although it won't leave until you're absolutely certain that it's your fate to suffer eternally beneath its frigid thumb. And it's short.

Oh, shit--it's trash day. I gotta go. But first, the poem. It's called "Haven't You Heard":

Haven't You Heard

My memoirs are three sentences long. 
At least they're not two.
At least they're not four.

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