A Poetical Interlude

I do not claim to be a poet.  The closest I approach the claim is to wish aloud that I had the attention to linguistic detail that real poetry calls for.  However, something fell out of me yesterday that looks vaguely like a poem, and it pleases me enough that I’m reproducing it here so I don’t lose it as it trundles along on Twitter’s endless conveyor belt.  It’s not deep, but it’s fun:

I call plural octopus
a crowd of octopodes
therefore
more than one rhinoceros
must be rhinocerotes.

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Published by

Dirck

Fountain pen fancier and repairer, recovering intellectual, low-grade anarcho-dandyist, and self-admitted writer of fiction, who's given to frequently wishing everything he wrote of a nonfictional sort was being read aloud by Stephen Fry, and everything else by either Vincent Price or Christopher Lee.

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