Sunday Squibs

 

When a thing becomes dated, that’s bad

If we don’t tear it down

Let time bring it round

Then the gentry will think that it’s rad

The mumble is the ear’s version of the eye’s blur. 

Some drinks launched him into the night 

But his orbit he failed to get right

He fell to the ground

And when looking around

Found his boosters were empty Bud Lites

If the horse had never existed, would man have bred cows to be more svelte? 

Democracy’s three checks: courts, congress and president, who in turn rely on the police, Army and Guard to keep in check our passions, as well as their own. 

Siri tries her best to find your needle, but the internet is a mighty big haystack. 

I enjoy pre-dawn Venus till Big Sol starts throwing his glare around. 

Being a recluse has its attractions. 

So does being dead.

For two introverts to start a conversation, one must be willing to say something which might cause the other to think, “That was stupid, but I’m glad he said it first.”

The equinox is my tipping point. 

Let winter’s sleep begin.