cc licensed ( BY NC ND ) flickr photo shared by Alissa Osumi

keep piling up in the apartment of my mind
Like piles of someone elses dirty clothes.
Dirty jeans, socks in odd numbered collections,
flannel shirts, a polka dotted party dress (not mine),
torn jeans, a tuxedo (no way), a leisure suit (maybe).

I keep
stuffing them back in the closet, tossing over the balcony at night,
leaving them in front of the empty 4G unit.
AC/DC Concert t-shirts, black bikini, wrinkled travel slacks.
Wedding gown (used once), surfer shorts (used too much),
cowboy duds, napkins, towels, boxer shorts with cartoons.

Big plastic bagfulls
I drop in the Goodwill dumpster.
Some of that stuff might just be my size.

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An early 90s builder of web stuff and blogging Alan Levine barks at on web storytelling (#ds106 #4life), photography, bending WordPress, and serendipity in the infinite internet river. He thinks it's weird to write about himself in the third person. And he is 100% into the Fediverse (or tells himself so) Tooting as


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