oh my gosh!  would you look at that squirrel.  see it whorl, hear its hissing?  what is it and why are those birds... as i write more happening quickly  than for words.   is a bit of wheat gluten such a cause for brawling?  well i declare that intrepid squirrel has up and caught that starling.  oh my and in its teeth it clutches.  a diving into the bush a scrambling the such is.  then poking up through the poke orange leavess' freezes, squirrel dangling a mouth full of feathers, merrily.   just to have a look around and catching on to my fixation as if to astound.  well,  it truly has succeeded and then all of a sudden, back down the bark they retreated.  releasing the bird on the ground, safe and sound and all in god speed it!  now shan't or shall i repeat it?

can't find a fiddle? did i say quibble? well, faddle your paddy whack,  "flip Flap", my dog is vegan, cultured if posh, yet cult and gouache and sure showing signs of civilized wigging out,  "speak" i say,  three quarter gape, engild K9 grin, nexus keeping time on the fiddle bone, in pursuit of a flea

time is a dime its getting shorter but sure taking longer, hopping on the ride you are already there, takes no time to take time, time slipping away is free,  sprinting on a minute, across the rolodex hex spangled galaxy, to be, a twinkle in my eye, to be, cash that is wasted on trash, "gimmick, give me happiness" i say, as i throw away my hard time earned pay

just one of those souls blessed a prince, lingering etched in time for all to see,  high up castle, inside stone walls, playing to find the victory, frozen in shear rage for life, knot knowing if im the enemy,  a warm glow comes over me now, cast from out the blue and as i peer through the rough stone view, i since stillness of child book meadows, lands far off, soft green yellows, knowing this may some day be, doors reach past the celling, needing no knobs and have no key,  such a shame, destined to fade, the cold a thin aura away

do you ever play "kissie-kissie elbow" while sleeping on a train, with a stranger of your sane, imaginating in your brain, if not, the simple rules are, not to laugh or to frown, not to cry or to speak, or to move or make a sound, here steals no object clearly, yet that which is to feel, connected only by touch, sharing warmth from adjacent will