I haint retracting casting myself, nor worming against being raffish ratfish

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This subdued wordsmith in his pinion doth not rack his brains to coon fess appeal toward one household pop starlet.

He blithely, nonchalantly, and willingly add mitts audiological enjoyment, sans the lithe hot feline Taylor Swift - I might be the only baby boomer bummer mwm, who admires this talented singer/ songwriter, yet owns NO (absolute zero) aspirations beyond (meat) composing poems or prose toward divine dame.

A questionable attempt to stitch together – analogous to knot sew swift a tailor, this scribe sought to create a poem (crafted countless years ago, and subsequently turned onto a mini vignette) from her then song titles spanning the letter “A” to the letter “H.”

Despite never setting eyes (AND MOST Definitely NOT PAWS), this grateful dead corpse of a skeleton (essentially lovely bare bones), when alive I found one gal powerhouse, (asper the title of this informal homage) genuinely fashioned, entirely dutifully composed, benevolently addressed as an attraction among the wonders of the world wide web, confidently enduring, gracefully immensely known, mainly not overly prone to quibble regarding her less outstanding musical and lyrical confections.

This doggone muttering pooch bow wows against nattering nabobs of negativism able, eager, ready, and willing bugaboos countering, dispelling, excoriating... courtesy unsustained denunciations against latent natural born talents of aforementioned musician, whereby pulp magazines make mincemeat

hammering, nailing, and wrenching storied accomplishments never yanking off the top of list of solo women musical artists who sold the most number one albums.

Before the advent vis a vis crafting this literary challenge incorporating a poetic endeavor predicated on prolific tunes comprising audiophile of Taylor Swift, (and thus a prescript interim), as iterated above, a whim took hold to string her partial song playlist (quite substantial even up to BUT NOT including the letter “I”).

This scribe dabbled, hocked, and limned what evolved into a semi satisfactory effort, to articulate, copacetic, enigmatic, generic, ironic, kinetic, magnetic, opportunistic, quixotic, scholastic, ultra democratic, holistic yik yak paddy whack give this bard a bon bon.

Adieu admit to elaborating, jovially, and openly leave readers second guessing, (what might easily be labeled, misconstrued, and nullified as gobbledygook), asper how mashup song titles got figuratively slapped together as a feebly note worthy attempt to put down sew sew pontoon swiftly tailored literary bridges in an effort to connect a cumbersome, fulsome, and irksome pseudo straight forward itemized songs sung by said seductive singular sylph..

Thee Mademoiselle found, or made a place in the world for yourself aching like a boy out in left field

pining to catch that high fly there ain't nothing 'bout you, (nor Brooks and Dunn) I can attest even if hypothetically, we spent eons at an all night diner, where culinary staff knew thee all too well and perhaps all you wanted (shared with Michelle Branch)

perhaps positing the rhetorical question – am I ready for love?

With an American boy or a bosom best buddy re: best friend forever with an American girl if someone got cross, tis beneficial (in this one republic) to apologize regardless, whom ye choose as a confidante,

the following refrain plays in your mind baby don't you break my heart slow (at least according to Vonda Shepard) memories no doubt arise, when thee hapt to be a baby girl thoughts unspool back to December beautiful eyes peered at a fractured reflection before the love story would begin again, while ebbing, and flowing with my baby recalling Bette Davis' eye (taking visual delight fantastic world tour live) reminding self how better off the choice made tis much better than revenge but umpteen times bother I will asper boys and love combustible mix – nonetheless always reminding myself to breathe

deep, cuz being breathless likened to a taste of death, (I admit better than Ezra) learning how to act points back asper being brought up that way lessons oft learned getting busted.

Oh...and by the way can I go with you?

Can you feel the love tonight?

Discern ache kin to sand castles crumbling?

Such granular, or solid state matter doth forced to change attested to by chaperone dads, who dressed as Santa Claus invoked that Christmas must be something more especially, Christmases, when you were mine ah...closest to a cowboy as “sigh” ever got or tasting Gunstock rattlesnake pulverized, yet countenance goose (and found you under the care of Chet Atkins at the make believe medical center)

shivered flesh against cold as you though desiring thee to come back...he here no doubt prone to announce crazier requests asked even crazier (as demonstrated by flash mob generated by Hannah Montana, one live wire) if able to glean my sentiments... cross my heart aware as an adult feeling the life source of daddy or mommy, while hinting with a stone temple piloted cold stare double dare you to move (or switchfoot), one to another das feet – planted within pitch dark blue Tennessee dwelling with thoughts of ma dear Digdan or writing an imaginary letter starting...”dear John” ample melancholy maudlin material to completely bind a diary of me yes concert cavorting circumstances avoidable, though didn't they make chase like butterflies, and don't they hate me for loving you?

So please don't tell me you want to, when I don't want to anymore argh, yet impossibly unshakable the recurring thought don't you act indiscriminately as when down came the purple rain, washed the spied her out following suit (wet) drenching yea...one drama queen with chin amen along pearl (jammed) harbor drive (in conjunction with alan jackson) presaging Jiving drops of Jupiter (train chugging, clacking, clattering railing gestalt of alien nation), and all of a sudden like how odd though... thinking about eighth grade graduate, when lifetime seemed enchanted now everything has changed eyes open (“hunger games”) maketh me – fall back on you instant messaging you – fall into me fearless, though only fifteen and how against pyrotechnics, you find your way back home on the fourth of July perhaps led by a zeppelin sized firefly ah, I ask myself who is the foolish one?

Me for you forever & always (a platinum edition) for girl at home (donned in deluxe edition) going bananas in reference to Amazing Gracie swaggering, and immune to gunpowder & lead, (whose leading lady Miranda Lambert) whatsapp penned left her looking haunted heartbreaker – (my words –

like the late Tom Petty) about her, but unsure if our thoughts aligned anyway, here you go again (Dolly Parton) a hero heroine so...I clamor to yell out “hey soul sister” and hey Stephen along the boulevard of broken dreams, this ribbon highway don't care about trumpeting his lies nor desecrating holy ground

honey baby, yes ye in the mom jeans, I feel hopelessly devoted to you

(as didst Olivia Newton) instinctively keen how to save a life bobbing buoyantly amidst the fray.

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