“Jesus saves”

Strong wind with a gentle whim of the Boulevard gentleman skimming the pages of Reader’s Digest shortly after taking down a shrimp cocktail and some squishy “snails” at the corner stop, and leaving a big tip- the receipt he rips in half, as per the plentiful shares of 20-dollar bills, and a pocket full of pills I take- the Xanax making me hungry for snacks that they buy me at the store, my shelves are ne’er bare, needing more, like a re-fill of those joyous pills, the Xanny-Bars, healing my anxiety woes and mental scars, going so far- and going all the way, on a date, when me and the lady have a nice Day and Night with magical delight as our hormones take over, along with Cialis, I could make a list without my first fist planted deep, the bill is so steep, and I refrain from prodding too hard because I AM NOT A CREEP!

Crepes and hams coming from a land so far away, my France, with dubious ancestors who have met their supreme demise, with no surprise, for the smokers/drinkers who think bizarre thoughts with their “Tinkers” at once we call the bell of the Wall St. finances, my France’s, paying attention to Palladium prices and hoping for a beneficial day on the market, carrying my stocks in a basket, called a “crypto-currency wallet” hold up just yet…

Say “when” but only when you do — Justine Aragona (And Tiph) I LOVE YOU!

My sweetheart bunches, doing sit-up’s and crunches, here, tomorrow I wonder what lunch is!

Ha! I’ve got you cinches with a noose, as mother goat eats a bunch of oats, and castles guarded by moats — I love my hunny buns Mom, Deborah Marquis (and her husband), I love them the most!

And Grammy’s ghost — maybe that’s what took the power out at Aunt Donna’s, I wonder, in this wondrous land, free of sand but Sandy, cleaning my apartment so flavorfully the dishes stacked near and neat fully, with the chef’s preparing my delicious meals, is it any wonder I feel the Zeal of “Averte” where I’d rather be, than in Ukraine, about to feel rushed Russian pain, it needs no refrain but a “cure” of USA military worn sore, sour bunches in war-like Trenches, I sit on the bench outside wondering how much I can bench-press… having maxed out at 235 lb’s. With all my strength and zero ease, as I drift off to sleep come morning, and my writing is never boring, giving birth to precious paragraphs, me as an author- why do I bother?

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