Read this to yourself. Read it silently.
Don't move your lips. Don't make a sound.
Listen to yourself. Listen without hearing anything.
What a wonderfully weird thing, huh?

NOW MAKE THIS PART LOUD!
SCREAM IT IN YOUR MIND!
DROWN EVERYTHING OUT.
Now, hear a whisper. A tiny whisper.

Now, read this next line with your best crochety- old-man voice:
"Hello there, sonny. Does your town have a post office?"
Awesome! Who was that? Whose voice was that?
It sure wasn't yours!

How do you do that?
How?!
Must be magic.

The ice cold chocolate milkshake and the longstanding dichotomy of poet philosopher , musician and painter
Socrates would make a point as to it's rightful owner , questioning whether or not it was even a cold , sweet drink
Dylan would make it the focal point of a tune about a small town eatery
Picasso would paint a story of deliciousness mired in loneliness
Randolph would pick it up with both hands and gulp it down

Happiness, is like a flower blooming
Its petals hid, its beauty looming
Then it unfolds, in all its splendor
To makes us feel, so warm and tender
WIZDUMBs BY JA 355

freedom can be bare feet
or naked
or laughter
freedom can be poetry

winter chills my bones
fiercer every season

her warmth i seek
with the prayer

O God, let her grow not older

When i snuggle into her
hear her lips' quiver

..........let him grow not older

Had poet's breakfast
this morning; a tasty bowl
of Synonym Life.

Mon  Oneday I'll be top dog
Have the sofa to myself

Tues  Chewsday all the bones belong to me
And to no one else

Wed  Walksday let's go on patrol
Throw some weight around

Thurs  Throwup day, you can clear it up
I'll sit here and frown

Fri  Dieday for the bunnies,
If I'm fast enough

Sat  Catsday, chase them up a tree
Watch them huff and puff

Sun  Funday, all of the above
For the pampered pooch
Who knows he's very loved