sweet land of liberty of thee i sing
the world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did: unreasonable searches and seizures deprived of life, liberty, or property without due process.
o say can you see by the dawn's early light that a house divided against itself cannot stand; that bravura is not bravery.
this land is your land, this land is my land.
yes she cranked the handle but the meat and potato man put his heart in the grinder and no one saved the pink spaghetti strands for chili.
he could have had his cake and eaten humble pie or worn it as a badge of honorable intent. instead he tasted just desserts that fate sandwiched between margaritaville and a cheeseburger in paradise. full of gumption Forest's mother disparaged the integrity of chocolates.
I strangled hope. Smug bastard annoyed me. I spring eternal; there is always room for me, he'd say (or his fanboys would moonily recite). So I grabbed his throat and fingers clenched squeezed. his eyes bulged green then withered gray. he lay dishrag limp on my lap. I hissed a firehose sigh, a contrail marking passage across some cloudless sky and felt don't laugh full of...
Persistent bastard. Kill you again if I have the chance.
Who knows how to unmake love? that fertile ground for growing goodness in tiny cracks between beings. Passionate demands attention, but draws reluctant admiration for his gymnastic stamina and singularity of focus -- a laser light later scattered in time's gauze. Oh so cute I could pinch the cheeks of this Puppy she says 40 Years Married now. Others applaud politely if not quite aspiring to such longevity. Unrequited garners the requisite sympathy.
some Wilburs inspire no spider-poets nor earn the love of Fern.
this pig shuns lipstick. his countenance admits no adornment.
ears perky, hairs erect, nose for mayhem acute, undulled, taste for anything. Orwell’s Napoleon commands our farm. cowed, we animals howl or growl assent to each assertion of fat cat dogma. Ham? I am. you speak newspeak? come wallow in the mud and muck with me. it’s warm; you’re welcome.
My unicorn Is patron saint of regret. He holds dominion over Things wished-for but not received. the unfulfilled, unrequited, unrealized.
Get it? He says, I'm like a Magritte or an Escher. Self-referential.
I don't. Or, I do, but I'm wallowing.
Quite unselfservingly, He says I should shun the vaporous un.... and rather mind those things I got but did not think to wish for.
Treasure there, matey -- Forges to steel the metal in yer mettle; (He's fond of pirate talk, too.
who shall lionize this deceased? and where pray tell shall the bodiless be interred? i know not where to lay bouquets nor what color on such civic holy-days that celebrate my dear departed. the stones i have accumulated to mark a graveside visit stack cold
hurl them at the walls of this always glass but newly transparent house of cards. shatter or bounce. who cares? when dreams die the pain sears as befits that without which we choose not to endure but must.
Gods I’ve always viewed with skepticism, But, I met an angel named Shirley.
They don't wear wings, you know. Impractical indoors. Hard to fit under a winter coat. Showy. Too many feathers ruffled already.
Or halos. Lord knows we have enough of those.
Sensible shoes? You bet. Got to keep their footing sure.
Craig or Suzanne might play a little trumpet, but only in the municipal band.
And none of them want to wrestle, ok?
Love of death and fear of life well describes the current strife in Babylonia today. Nihilism rules the day. And what persuades the nihilist? Nothing, save the gun or fist. So, honor life -- with every breath speak words that counter love of death.