My mental landscape is without exposed roots or sudden holes, causing trip hazards. It is absent of blizzards and floods. It is serene, where thoughts skip along freely, unencumbered by grammatical turbulence.
Guard rails are there for your protection, as are the childproof claws on all the stuffed animals, who – by the way – live forever.
Syntax doesn’t
collapse like a washed-out bridge.
Commas don’t blow
sideways in a gale.
Verbs never slip on
loose gravel.
Ideas never require a
helmet.
It
is a place where smiles are not selling toothpaste.
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