"W thought we smelt the afterglow
of sexual desire.
We snorted more and...Blimey! Cor!
'Tis Drumpf's coiffure, afire --
which odor's not unlike some hot
ignited whitewall tire."
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.)
Thursday, February 8, 2024
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What A's Still Not For: A Revised Reissue Of An Early Illuminated Alphabet
The 2019 original "What A's Not For," addressed to a boy and his sister, indicated one at a time to that anonymous pair not on...
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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...
