So an airplane falls on you
Which means you've kind of
Had a bad day.
But, given the general
Mind numbing mundanity
Of life
How bad could a day
That results
In such a
Cartoonishly random
End to existence
Really be?
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An experiment, to see if I am capable of writing one poem a day for an entire year. Readers are welcome to comment on the work, or post their own work in response.
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