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Nov
2007
Counterintelligence
a poem
by N. M. Brewka
Copyright © 2007 N. M. Brewka. All
rights reserved.
Burns' wee mousie, Aesop's ant,
some folks love them, but I can't.
Living with me, neither for me,
nor against me, they don't see
me. I am too big to comprehend,
god not of beginning but of end.
The wedge of poison's pie
sports a brown and yellow crust. I
tear off the lid. I hide the box.
Adipose mouse, it knocks
my beloved mug over, draining
in the dish rack. Brainingit's impossible. Pellets scatter.
Which has the better gray matter?
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