I'm not sure how compulsive I'll get with this; I already have well over 25 but I don't know how inclined I am to keep chasing to try and catch lightning in a bottle. The following are among my cut list:
He disappeared in the dead of winter,
As barren and cold as a play by Pinter.
My little horse must think it queer
That Busch would sell his pee as beer.
I shall wear white flannel trousers and walk along the beach,
Being watchful for syringes that may wash within my reach.
And lo! ben Adhem's name led all the rest;
The "Do Not Fly" list worked - who would've guessed?
Know then thyself; presume not God to scan.
Get ample sleep and exercise and bran.
I shall forget you presently, my dear,
Your mama says to half the sailors here.
When my love swears that she is made of truth,
I sniff her breath for Boodles and vermouth.
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