THE CHITLINS

Treat them well for someday, perchance, They will be our king.

With scissors, together we shall run and graze on the clouds.

With no one else to claim or blame.

Together we calmly trickle down till the parachute takes us to the ground.

Up an up we go again

The circles of ever more beat their wings and prodigiously pronounce unfounded confabulations.

enhanced by what can be believed with an inkling of an eye

I dare say we attempt such things.

The smallest of brains appear to deserve what we reach for. Beware that our reach extends into our wallets, thus we lose sight.

Vision fails.

Unity falters.

That blade of grass grows exponentially and whips us dry. The will ’O the wisps beat us into a frenzied lather that spins out of control.

The Portions of crumbs we begin to gather become to be no fewer than the fear we find in our dullest minds.