Word Salad Sandwiches

I once made a statement I think is still valid, Miracle Whip on top of word salad, Enhances the flavor in ways unexpected, A mere bowl of veggies one might have rejected, When I make a sandwich the same is still true, Just one or the other simply won’t do, Some years ago I got this affliction, From chronic pot use and light meth addiction, A victim of neural synapse dysfunction, A blind train conductor who’d missed the last junction, Off the embankment, all hope is now gone, Imagine myself as Daedalus’ son, Away from destruction and upward I flew, Blindly, again, into Fates hands anew, As gravity guides me back down to my place, I make myself ready for deadly embrace, But out of the ashes I’ll yet again rise, To create with my Words and converse with the wise.


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