I believe love has an evil twin,
But I could be losing my mind.
There are petals on thistles,
And thorns on roses;
I can turn 360 or 180
And ride off in any direction.
Tales run like a loop in my brain,
Not recalling who's heard what,
I preface:
I've probably told you this before, but...
Is how any old story begins.
Deja Vu is my new life.
Every thought was once a poem
To be polished and revealed.
Today, they are intermittent.

I've been trolling old television series;
The Monkees were terrible then,
Terrible still;
The Three Stooges were best left in the memory vault;
Bonanza still has Ben wearing his beige vest;
Elizabeth Montgomery is still bewitching;
Jeannie is irritatingly attractive.
I must be leaking grey cells;
Rationality is creaking in my bone-head.