The wallet whines and the wind assails. Slack sails on a doldrums salt watery sea. Crossing the lines of ocean that will never be drawn. Contracted with shipmen and society and with one’s babe. A crow’s nest passion. Taking it in with the extension of an ocular. Cloud swept, passionate,,, LAND HO!
It’s fair to say the river ran high. And that the tide ebbed low. It was a mammoth in the ice since time began. The scrolls of our jailkeeper have the guise of ashfelt lytresis in the tradition of their teachings. The mole scurrying across the floor has fallen on hard times.
You see his pride pig exterior expects to ride but the church shot his horse. Then they set fire to their braying mule’s tail. Foxes wouldn’t suit this jack Joe. No they need the butt of a joke to raise their 10,000,000,000 billion chillies by.
Ever and amour the hoar grass bets on its nervy rack of pluck. The land is a mission alive with the bayoful round of a doggone heaven. The lot of its terminal awareness caught up in the gutsy beliefs of its new sown children’.
Every iambic lamb willing to mow grass. Every swisher’s tale within awkward instance of a throe. Every atypical trafficking fly. The variegated depth in a rushing of damask for choice spots on the floor. The leaf pile instigators no longer treeless. No hot in the spot of jumping beans. An over the top wrest of the aviary and wreath. Coocoos said it best. The time is best now for a rest.
The countdown to infinity. Going nowhere fast and then some. A reminder of all things once saught after civil and and a time to begin again anew. Nothing disharmonious left to be undone. Left to the party of mischievous arborist whom when given a seat say just plant it. Never to chose who choses to deceive it.
Dawn and daybreak. The lit up new sky. The borne upon the doorstep. A gift of mystery to the new school. Pinters of the apt boon and new kith. While spirits counter them out looking for their swain.
Personal Writings 