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The Winco Incident {Occurred: 3/2012} (Recorded 7/16/20)

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Written imagery Below

I mourn that I will not understand you again.
The hours I did were fleetingly brief.
For not but a moment, passing a vending machine,
dead with fear, the machine was alive,
threatening me with Twinkies and chips
Not with words, or movements, or looks.
With existing.
Calling me like a siren.
Implicit memories floating on the stuffy campus air.
I ate every one.
They ate me,
until fear stood in the hollow pit of a former stomach.
They followed me into my classroom and into the dusk.
Waking from the fog of too much clearity
I knew you, in your world
as it constantly shifts
what cannot happen
into what is
All I could think was “run”
as far as I could from that truth I could not own
from you who, by the laws of nature,
forever own a half of me.
I like to leave meaning open to the audience & love feedback!

Playing a game.

Of, “How well do we know each other?”

The algorithm asks, about my favorite type of jokes.

Corny, black, or sophisticated?

I have seen so much unfounded bias and hate that,

my first thought was,

People consider it okay to have an entire category of jokes about race, and asked if they are my favorite?

The question in the algorithm was referring to macabre humour.

But even I, a white woman, know the answer to my question is yes, many do.

That is not funny.

and the people I think it is, are laughable.

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