Elephant Feet

One ole timer noted to a small visiting nephew,
“Kid, you ever notice how it’s almost impossible
to offer anyone any sort of advice without whining?”


The following notice might prove to be either
a boon, or a bane, or both,
to either an optimist, or a pessimist, or both, and it is:
into each life, some life must fall.

A Revolutionist base
that continually attempts to specifically define what it is – ain’t.


Where you’re stationed,
close to one hundred percent of non fiction is fiction.

They tell of a (don’t you just love it – “they tell” – they,
like I don’t know who the hell “they” are since I made up
the whole wrestling card – but as I’m sure you’d say,
“be that as it may,” on with the bloody match) –
They tell of a Revolutionist Camp where, if you sought entry,
they first would as you one question – just one,
but if you attempted to answer it in any manner whatsoever,
you were summarily dismissed and rejected.

A man with elephant feet,
can leap as high as he wants to.



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