The Blowhard

A sit before a screen or page and muse most momentarily it seldom takes a minute more for it seems I’m always stewing amazed at this, afraid of that, annoyed beyond endurance with pen in hand or keyboards click, I truss the image up. I tie the brash in blades of grass, I soundly trounce the villain I’m so much happier in my mind, writing’s so fulfillin’ It is not hard to find the place the person or the scheme to rant about, to cajole, the world is truly full of such a never ending cavalcade of colors and of earthly joys all I need is time and space and on and on I can elucidate though the value maybe little oh how I enjoy it.