Gibberal doggerish
A manatee among minotaurs, a peregrine of vultures, wrested and reedy, bereft to my own debentures, a sausageless butcher: no wurst for ware.
He sees horses in moonlit clouds. It means nothing. He's a stranger to the night sky and has no horse. Clouds and he nod acquaintance.
Was a time once when it wasn't what it used to be when it was something. Old comes to the lucky. Ignore it. Old goes away.
Pencil met paper one windy night in the merry midst of mien and meant every many the most. Of it, what you may make, stencil and stapler.
Ask an Ozzie, loaming the deserts of states and rhyme, vagrous, distempered. Easily doesn't, nor within separate and entire.
Suttuttutter comes back muhmuhmumble some rumfool bullsome dude Ledoux school treadles none a one-ary. Semble goes as cymbal does.
Whuz you ennawear? Whuz you ever? Ere I whuz you where you once? Theresomuch I how we know so which you as I dare say?
Hampshoo your beebles, get 'em outright of your life. Cubble your dross and slock your curds aweigh. Kit your bags, sir. Off you go.
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---------------------------------restart-----------------------------------
Sons settling in the west, doubters of the empirical restitution, chitlins of unknown feathers, portential guidance staunchly digested.
This day like all others is everything, something, nothing at once to all, some, and none. This day like no other is ours to dispose alone.
"Where did you put the morning?" "In the out box." "Where will the afternoon be stored?" "In the pages of another book never meant to be read."
Words, words swirl and spin, out they pop, unbidden, like light escaping an eclipsed sun, cold, unilluminating.
The spigot stream closes on a day like all others in its uniqueness and meritorious inconsequence. Prattlle and thrum.
He sees horses in moonlit clouds. It means nothing. He's a stranger to the night sky and has no horse. Clouds and he nod acquaintance.
Was a time once when it wasn't what it used to be when it was something. Old comes to the lucky. Ignore it. Old goes away.
Pencil met paper one windy night in the merry midst of mien and meant every many the most. Of it, what you may make, stencil and stapler.
Ask an Ozzie, loaming the deserts of states and rhyme, vagrous, distempered. Easily doesn't, nor within separate and entire.
Suttuttutter comes back muhmuhmumble some rumfool bullsome dude Ledoux school treadles none a one-ary. Semble goes as cymbal does.
Whuz you ennawear? Whuz you ever? Ere I whuz you where you once? Theresomuch I how we know so which you as I dare say?
Hampshoo your beebles, get 'em outright of your life. Cubble your dross and slock your curds aweigh. Kit your bags, sir. Off you go.
----------------------------------end-------------------------------------
---------------------------------restart-----------------------------------
Sons settling in the west, doubters of the empirical restitution, chitlins of unknown feathers, portential guidance staunchly digested.
This day like all others is everything, something, nothing at once to all, some, and none. This day like no other is ours to dispose alone.
"Where did you put the morning?" "In the out box." "Where will the afternoon be stored?" "In the pages of another book never meant to be read."
Words, words swirl and spin, out they pop, unbidden, like light escaping an eclipsed sun, cold, unilluminating.
The spigot stream closes on a day like all others in its uniqueness and meritorious inconsequence. Prattlle and thrum.
Copyright 2014-2019 by Dennis Richard O'Reilly -- all rights reserved
