you can’t even laugh at your own jokes.
but I don’t know where to start.
we’re stranded on a desert island
and we only brought one thing,
it wasn’t the satellite phone.
a man crossed the road, longing
for the other side. or was
it a woman.
or a chicken.
I plan on never being as old as
my father, who is not ageless.
Miles Davis plays on the radio.
cleaning my glasses with microfiber.
abreast the impudent children.
– Hoc Scripsi
This is my offering today. not much in it’s own regard. I am working on two much longer pieces. and they consume a lot of energy.
it is suppose to rain today, I seeded the lawn yesterday. I assume it will not rain today.
the platitudes of willful resemblance 