Well, I got my new computer up and running.....minus all of my files. So, this time I have to sporradically make up shit as I go along. This should be interesting...You're in for a real treat.
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe,
All mimsy were the borogroves,
And this poem I did...grabe?
For Lewis Caroll, upon his horse,
Has given Alice a case of divorce
As rabbit-holes tunnel to Paris and Rome,
And the old Jabberwocky drinks beer and stays home.
And so, here I sit, in my fortress of words
And slowly, so slowy, feed poems to birds.
Feeling confused and misunderstood,
Took an uzi and shot a poor wolf full of lead
And now he lies broken, bloody and dead.
And this is the moral, my petualant child,
As you sit there and scream and drive everyone wild,
Remember that those that are smaller than you
Can sometimes give people a shocker or two.
To the sound of my own breathing,
Wild and wind-tossed,
Scattered like my dream-thoughts,
Flying alongside the hummingbird.
My mind unfolds,
A blank notebook of impressions,
Of half-formed phrases
And nameless words.
I am frightened.
What is left of humor, of mirth?
What is left of laughter, of comedy?
What is left of life?
Only me,
Standing stalwart, straining, stretching,
Striving to make a difference, or at least a sum.
I am the heart of the soul, the beginning of dreams.
I write. Therefore, I am more.
Reverse FAQ here.
