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Rummaged
A broad daylight spilled over my sleepwalking mind.
I popped out of a dream knowing something.
An alien from an alternative Ohio
had cat-burgled my consciousness.
I had been probed, not in a physical way,
just ransacked and rummaged
as if a strange mind considered me to be
a yard sale or curiosity shop.
I felt turned over, my stored stuff assessed
then replaced higgledy-piggledy.
The dust in my attic is still flying.
My junk is all tipped over.
I am not sure what the alien was looking for,
not sure what it made off with.
Something as yet unused has been pilfered,
and I will miss it when it’s time to find it.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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