Flip the fucking barn.
Is what you all said to me.
Why sleep in height where chicken shit is an immediate threat daily as I’m the one to ring the bells to bring the cows home.
It’s been a many a year [not really in split-pea-soup time.] since I’ve been to the farm.
Or a farm.
Or mine.
Yet my bushes get sculped and the mulberry pods became hijinks in my coffee maker since I started putting ice and double brews to get this machine to fucking last a year after the turn-dial soaker knob got broken off.
Specifically terminology us machinist use.
I finally got around to laundry.
3 loads, the formal pants haven’t been washed yet and whatever
Miscellaenous items
Linger in there.
Whatever.
The sweats are fresh and this Summer is exhausting.
I’ve been waking up again early and I venture to push myself further to Night Shift and morning meals I don’t eat
Just to work a little harder for all the wonders in the world
That project personal affidavits into culprit behavior as if you were never a child and told someone you hated them.
Well, folks, everyone’s done that.
Those who forsaken greed for the pure pursuit of passion and live humbly just for the voice of privacy to watch a little closer. Tune the knob and adjust the frequency.
Upraorious the crowd grows for moldy bread and they think
The gladiators
Weren’t Legonnaires and successful at that and the campaign manager of the leader-of-roma to be admitted to those games.
What is a stage but for futile whimpering, throes, and bows.
Accept your award elsewhere.
Dead after a leap-year, I rather give up now than try that dream out for a spin.
I rose above it already.
You don’t like the clean-up but the last 8 slices of pie sure got a lot done.
Quietly, and happily – to do the job.
And make everywhere grow a little more swifter.
There was just less phones and devices and social media was new-ish,
then.
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