The house dog, our burglar alarm

(BURGULAR, BURGALAR, BURGOLAR I can spell it as I like

proved forgettable after all.

Here I am on another computer, having ridden the first one into the dust.

The marathon goes marching onCoo as steady as the drum on the galley, pounding out the rhythm so the oars do not become tangled,

While my tangles bipolar brain

is racing up and down the aisles of my minimart life

jumping up and pulling things off the shelves in a jumble of joyful anarchy.

Cookies crumble as the packages are rent assunder.

How pleased is OliverthedogofGraceWiebenga with himself,

Diving in the dinky dumpster of disturbed demented  distress,

Mixing metaphors with similes with a toothy smile like a cartoon dog,

Muscular tail wagging so vigorously that delicate items must be taken to sanctuary for preservation.

‘Who can resist such joyful abandon?

We roll on the floor and tussle with this aging puppy, murrrmufrring love sounds.

There’s a boy, that’s a boy, It’s such  a boy, such a good boy, yes we are, oh yes oh yes oh yesssss.

Finally we find the special spot that soothes and does not excite, and things calm down enough

for words to emerge instead of inchoate thoughts and  cavorting emotions.


Sit.  Stay.  Good dog.

Quiet while I save this and publish it.

I know.  No fun.  More fun to tear apart the toilet paper rolls.

But let’s compromise with the other people’s world,

the calm ones who walk with feet on the ground.

Good dog,  OliverthedogofGraceWiebenga.



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