I am of many regrets this morn on the dawn of our discontent. I find occasionally the sun heats me. The leaves of me shrivel and fold with my observance and regret.
It is with great calamity that I announce my resignation as United States Poet Laureate. I am looking for a new job and perhaps a Nobel Prize if possible. Simply email me for details of my philosophic excellence. I want to be a cuisinist thinker.
In any case, today a humorous occurence occured. It was happening inside the mall, happenstance of my career. Ironically, I saw that the birthday cards expressed an interest in something other than a birthday. They were expressing the age of twenty three. However, you cannot be born at the age of twenty three! LOL! I feel as if the card makers went for an IQ test and it came back negative!!!
No but in sincerity. I feel we are being robbed by the monolithic megamoth corporation of the birthday cards. If you demand satisfaction, I suggest you write inside a card and then mail it in your anger. Communally.
Thank you for your life,
Jonas R. Dickinson
P. S. A poem about sunrise:
Done and gone.
Must be Wainwright week
1 week ago