Like how clothes made from cheesecloth may suit one’s fancy, thereby, I reserve the right to mispell words in ways that pleas me.
Intentional irony. Is that a definition of satire?
<my eyelashes innocuously and stupidly batting>
The brief rain smelt of Alabama in its kindest springtime offerings.
The weather done did my hair.
Humidity curling my tresses like wrapping ribbon struck and pulled against a scissors edge.
Popping curls like my ass and cunt twerking.
Locking into this collision course.
And, in this northeastern dry climate, the slightest bit of humidity becomes me and makes me brazen enough to speak á la a way uncummly.
The intentional rye~bald, of an insecure man’s combover.
I come on too strong when I feel too unsmall.
A tiny mouse can tower. But, when other vermin shrink,
I over think
my place.
And, you kunst get my joke without finding it to be funny.
Because, rite now that is as good as an hysterically laughing crack~owl.
WrittenCasey 