One ponders
twin strands
as one wanders
through lands
where no
circumspect man’s ever been.
And none more
than the one
where the men
are all women
and all of the
women are men.
Guys are gals. Moms are Dads.
Sisters? Bros! Lasses? Lads!
Boys are girls. L’hommes are femmes. So it goes.
Hes are shes.
Hims are hers.
But a question occurs:
How’s one know
how one knows how one knows?
Poet Poe pens nonsense verse. "...plus phun," puns Uly, "I disburse." Its gamut runs from spam to worse. The matter posted...? Poe's diverse -- most, postcards from his universe, replies to grudges he must nurse. My summary...? Let me be terse: a mitzva, mostly. (Not a curse.)
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Rev'd Spooner Meets Rev'd Carroll
He sought to thaw each thought he saw flee, frozen, from his mind. He peer'd again, then gear'd his pen, supposin' he'd...
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PWWL is pleased to acknowledge the participation of friend-of-blog JD in creating this item. Collaboration in name, collaboration in pro...
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