I collect nifty words, like coins in a purse,and use them carefully to keep my writing from getting worse -but the paradigm shift in the indemnity of the heretic has roused me to obliterate the undulating babel.
I only half know these words, but I love you all the same.
Sometimes it's better to keep it simple -
I make love like I make eggs - hot and fast.
How's that for a simile?
I've got another.
Trying to write well is like looking for the right dress,
it's got to reveal as much as possible without looking desperate,
and this poem is a testament to something tight and slutty.
You were right Socrates.
I know one thing, and that is that I know nothing at all.
me: mom can we go home yet
mom: just another 5 minutes
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