There are no swing-sets and no fences around the farthest edges of my mental playground. It has very soft ground, made up of sometimes sand and sometimes leaves, depending on my mood. Where monkey-bars would ordinally be is a jumble of punctuation, still suitable for climbing upon.
Tall statues of nouns
cast their shadows across inactive verbs, who lay resting until needed. It is forever summer with a slight breeze blowing
from East to West. I don’t know why. Words grow wild here and there, ready to be
picked at a moment’s notice. Misspellings
are the weeds, often all to prevalent. Occasionally a run-on sentence will trip me up,
like a vine stretching across the path.
Or, depending on the position of the sun, tenses might change when, in
fact, they shouldn’t. It’s one of those things
I just need to watch for.
It's not all fun and games you know.
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