Cachinnation from an Agelast

Fickle and fatuous. Canoodling a fard. Donnybrooks ensue. A rambunctious ra-tard.

Smellfungus shenanigans. A quean’s delight. Pettifoggers malarkey. Not a goombah in sight.

Sufferin’ succotash meets jumping jehoshaphat. Lawd have mercy, look at Jessica Rabbit’s ass.

Hollowed out fiction meets babbling banter. The Natzis and Klan sprinkled in with a Panther.

Gongoozled by ecdysiasts. Eructations of a klutz. Maverick meets nincompoop. A Kate Spade clutch.

A pretentious pettifogger. A decanter of wine. Nocturnal nirvana. Pandiculation devine.

Friday fodder. A lagopodous shrine. Trump is a mugwump. Clinton a canine. 

Descriptive and clutch. Poetic and polite. A three legged crutch. Tonight is the night. 

“Hard writing makes easy reading”

“When you wish to instruct, be brief; that men’s minds take in quickly what you say, learn its lesson, and retain it faithfully. Every word that is unnecessary only pours over the side of a brimming mind.”

“Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.”

“The finest language is mostly made up of simple in imposing words.”

Perusing The Perimeter

Dancing in the sheets. Lusting in the wind. The sun has fallen. Class is about to begin.

Coddling confidence. Sharpening tack. Rewinding ignorance. Blind as a bat.

Take all of your exaustion. Spill some blood, sweat and tears. Focus before you get lost in what you have most grown to fear.

Chameleons in cahoots. A reason not to poot. Akin to skydiving without packing a chute.

One foot in the box. Two toes on the line. Three times three should equal 9, most of the time.

Subtly spoken. Educationally equipped. A glass of bourbon. He only likes to sip.

Madlessly mischievous. Marvelously mundane. Mentally muddled. Idiotically insane.

No rhyme. No rhythm. Time to realign my thoughts. A line. A trigger. Questions being sought. 

Questions being sought. Nerves being nipped. A step closer for nought. Emotionally unequipped.

Radically random. Tubular to the core. How are you trying to win if you have yet to score?

One day closer. One day further. It’s poetic paradox. 
“In solitude we are least alone.”