Ever Since

A large green iguana fell out of a tree onto my head. Ohio has no invasive Iguanas. I don't smoke anymore. Right in front of me a speeding red van killed a woman. I have developed an allergic reaction to all kinds of blind spots. Latterly, balding eagles have buried their memories under symbolic windfarms. Since moving to where I am, the mail truck arrives far too late to do anything about it. I used to leak over sterile tabletops. Now and again, a thin lifeblood still drains through systemic digital aqueducts. Upon a time, I considered following the ways of an autonomous wildebeest, no matter, an habitual herd instinct led me to drink from only shallow waterholes. I have reconsidered. Ever since, a rung-less ladder gets me high enough without the use of heel lifts. I choose my socks carefully.