It wasn’t even winter yet, as autumn held her ground. Weaker men were torn asunder as angels prevailed where blind men feared to speak. You could not fess up nor deny, those wild werewolf times
Where wolvens roamed the crest like crazy heathcliff
Heather of Moorland Farms befriended the mysterious Maxine. Who wore clogs. A cord skirt. Long straight hair like Marcia Brady but a sway like West Side Story.
The colors of the continent were committed to a shell of their former shelves – the Russian tea cozy. Sore spot of etiquette.
I wasn’t proud when I said my family was like Prince of tides just alarmed
“Those who hammer their guns into plowshares will plow for those who do not.” Thomas Jefferson, President of the United States, Founder of the University of Virginia, the one slave owner of the group who was unanimously asked to write the preamble for the Constitution, known as the Declaration of Independence.
Now You may ask how could a slave owner write such beautiful words as we the people
In order to form a more perfect union
INSURE DOMESTIC TRANQUILITY
PROVIDE FOR THE COMMON DEFENCE
PROMOTE GENERAL WELFARE
THE BLESSINGS OF
LIBERTY TO OURSELVES
and our Posterity…
The seventh generation
Certainly no one wants to witness nuclear fallout. Not from a bunker not from an underground silo, middleman earth safe house for world leaders and cryogenic windbags. I’d rather we be taken out by that thing on the other side of the sun than the flash we’ve all dreaded since watching the day after on a school night in 1983.