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The split you for inspiration: Freud’s
theory of the untinny. I prefer
the cenotaphic stubby holder.
Monumentally ersatz
as a Test draw, sticky with time. 
We sit on the deck with the lions unmemoried beyond.  
Don’t they have homes to go to?  Last week, it was
a pack of unfamiliar oompa loompas 
‘all by myself’. 
Long after, one stayed humming with mandarin
levity. It’s not a roaring pain,
just ever-constant. Karaoke gold.
Love as an exercise of non-linear thought 
defies theories of zoological substitution
or Porphyrian logic. We seek 
drinks on the house  and, failing that, 
a spot of televised asylum. 
The melancholia of a setting sun  
not being 
all it cracked up to be.  Animal affection   
lines the shelves of a local convenience store
which, in our incumbent pride, 
we choose not to enter.

Instrumentality goes out for a duck.