Good morrow, fair readers! An always it is with an inestimable quantity of gratitude that I greet you. I suppose were I to take a stab at such an approximation I would guess 7. Maybe 7.2.
Thank you so much for your patience while I slogged through the mud of physical injury and general writer’s apathy. Maybe colonel.
The following poem has been in the file since June but as we continue to await the result of Schrodinger’s election the theme beckoned appropriate. Maybe.
“Screwality”, June 25, 2020.
There exists within us all
Conscience big or morals small
Crushing weight of vast remorse
Versus darker plans endorse
Embrace and raise least among
Or sweet tune’s locked up unsung
Even if lacking cricket
Ethics is golden ticket
Jimminy would sure be proud
If you rose above the crowd
Note pure driven virgin snow’s
Not the only way to go
I’ve amassed some dirt and slush
Colour adds a lived-in flush.
Some dirt and slush may be better defined as, “a big city gutter’s worth of horrid detritus and tainted sludge”, but it would have spoiled the meter. Alas.
It’s far too nice a day out to tarry in, so I must bid you adieu. Good morning and good luck.
A fractured mind held together by cellophane and some used tack.