Whimsygizmo's Blog

No more “He taught me how to walk 
and to speak and to fake 
like a regular lady.” No more 

guardroom analysis or matriculated 
days or Paris waived until October 
starts volcanic 
winter. No more complicated 

chemistry (she fell in love) 
                                             (and out again)
or fancy gloves or lecture room re: 
actions. No more silver 

slivering of mirrors or milk or meat 
or mercury rising. No more surprising 
pigments of paint or phraseology 
that just ain’t 
right for her tongue. No,

the storage closet’s done and the skeletons 
are dancing dangerous medicine 
with radical apothecary hopes. Nope 

to universities and gyms. Yes to gin. 
The nutritional value of 
twinkies and twinkle little star. 
Clouded art, apart
-meant to vent. To sting. No more 

singing (in the rain or otherwise)
of chimneys (chim-chim-cher-ee) 
or chairs or children in pairs 
or glasses that make her look 
smart. She is 

                           (fluid) 

brewer of time, condensing vapors 
and vim in a signature swim of 
strange. Professor Emeritus 
Extraordinairus of all things in
                                       -sane.

::
Just Doo-in a ‘little delightful, insightful insanity born of an awesome wordlist.