From the Clutter Of a Disheveled Mind

I missed the era when euphemisms, metaphors, and, even, mixed metaphors proliferated.  It took creativity to come up with some of them–blind hogs, acorns; horses led to water; the art of catching flies with honey, instead of vinegar.  People talked around things instead of going straight for the jugular.

It was a dreamlike state–watching silent movies with captions.  For some odd reason–I knew when it would rain.  What to do when people ran out of crutches to lean on?  What would bowling on the moon be like?

You would be surprised to learn–as I was.  Prognosis, everyone was waiting for payday–it was only Wednesday.  The diagnosis was hypnosis.  What was that out the window?  It was a fog bow.  And, you didn’t know?  Open another box of “try not to act surprised.”

After the Thrill

Nothing much has changed.  Discarded items replaced by other useless things.  A second glance at a post from two years ago.


Long ago

Love affairs

Thrills departed

Some, barely started

Rumpled, forlorn, forgotten

Behemoth, stone-age electronics

Temporary dog fence

No longer made sense

Things bought for five bucks

Supposed to work–never did

Clothes from the eighties

When girls had big hair

Were clueless in Beverly Hills

My first guitar with broken strings

Propped up with the other things

Billy Bass, sass and crass

Pet rock, singing bird clock

Perhaps I’m too sentimental?

Inanimate objects can’t think or talk

Mood ring, get in line–take a walk