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Until the fried eggs arrive:
I sweat off the humiliation of
Forgetting my manners
Succumbing to sleeplessness
My mouth is an unguarded gate which swings
Wide open to release a
Little daily devil of some sort

I can see the error
I am not the error

You already knew that, though

Text and Images © Andrew Auten – All Rights Reserved
Photos from someplace Washington and Oregon.