That bowl on the counter,
It was the first place I thought would be best,
No rest for the hunter,
There were so many thoughts that haunted me,
About needing the dish,
The room it took on the food area,
Like cross-contamination from the fish,
I moved them to a plastic container,
On my writing desk, now,
But with the loss of the daily routine,
My mind is in a row,
Things have since changed,
They are not always there,
I sometimes leave them in my coat pocket,
Change rules once and they disappear in th'air.
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