I’ve been here near a while by now… New hermit crab whom neighbors peek. The grass is getting pretty high. What reason have I to be shy? Is it their hearts I dare to seek? Then, do mine own I disavow!
If I should venture outside my door Will eyes swoop like birds of prey… To examine this carriage and semblance of soul? Will my life then be shown to the world in its whole… With all my secrets hung out for display? I really don’t know what is in store.
This lesson lifelong whom I fully indulge Seems childish and basic from point of view I only know that, suffice it be, An irrational poise comes over me To dream of accruing such revenue That the world behold as my worth I divulge.
I need ya ta fixer, doc! ‘Ain’t been herself purt-neer half a week now I know you’re the feller to git the job done. ‘Tried to fixer myself. She ain’t improved none. I cain’t even gitter to milk the cow, And, she’s ornery ‘round the clock!
I really need ya ta checker out. Every month, ‘bout this time, her air filter gits clogged… She starts talkin’ ‘bout yoga and goin’ to school. If she gotter some schoolin’, I’d look like a fool! Other than that, many good miles been logged.
‘Cain’t be the moon – just hormones, no doubt.
Still, I cain’t have them critters makiner silly. I’d check under the hood. Do you know what to do? Ain’t ya got some shot that’ll chase ‘em away? ‘Cause iffin ya do, that would sure make my day. Can you giver a pill that’ll maker like new? She’s a tough old gal. For a wife, she’s a dilly.
Any other time, she’s a’workin’ just fine… ‘Ain’t complainin’ or cryin’ or throwin’ a fit. The kids and the dog gits along with her good. She mops and cleans and folds the clothes like she should. She’s a hog in the sack, but she snores quite a bit. Her warranty’s good for as long as she’s mine.
There is nothing so serious going on here As we sift through our sorting and cast blame about. When Idea expressed from the heart becomes form, Consciousness is focused away from the norm. Given chaos or cosmos, which would you live without? Might the purpose of Art be to dissipate fear?
To brush one’s birth upon planet earth Is to paint upon canvass suspended in space. Synchronous life strokes do embellish our dance. We would color the moon if given the chance. Know that life is a blending of pigment and grace. Know the true magnitude of your worth.
To see the magic in what is real Is to know the reality of what is magic. Art embraces the stillness within the calm As it plays upon meaning to quell the qualm. Though spilled blood upon linen is not all that tragic, The purpose of being is to feel.
There is nothing so serious going on here That it would cause me to break down and cry. With all feelings to feel and all thought to express Why linger in moodiness, lack or distress? To dwell upon these does dis-ease amplify? So what say you, there? I will lend you an ear.