We did one thing in common. Everyone bristled.  
 
One thing. One time. Other times in tatters oneself are gimme-erotic,  
circumspect. (I’m just beginning to explore them.) Their symbolism weighs in  
as a shortcut, “I need me.” It’s a lovely tirade. (Jack Spicer) 
Times (x) I’m pretending to be at your asinine behest, pet swapped,  
intimidating as a perfect stranger.  
 
As a consequence doors open. & I’m auto-electrocuted.