Brain Go Dimanche

Birds are chirping.
It is forty minutes after eight o'clock, post meridian.
The house is empty.
My nose is sun burned, and also my shoulders.
Bugs are pretty bad this year; chewed up my legs something awful already.

But I do love the pleasantries of prima vera.


Touts, David the law maker wants to TRANSPLANT vineland from it's secret spot.
Relocation to Muv & Farv's back yard.
O how do I feel about this?

Tired.

The house is empty of humans, but not of distressed dog hair.
And the PLP on Friday.
So my brain, it is missing.
And my wits too.
They conjure up an image of a lone rusted horse shoe, or smooth, hot stones on the beach.
Antique hearts strings pumping blood like a train leaving station;
Chhh, Chhh, Chhh
Lifetime pleasantries, not woman ploughing field with kerchief or hoe.
Can I be a battle ax again tomorrow?

One day, all of those sugar concentrated purple globes will host outrageous legends,
and loamy lore.

Muv and Farv's plot is a gaint sandbox.

'Suis Fatigue, Touts.

A Bientot.