speak of a homecoming

don’t know where to put what these days

Come To Timmy

when in doubt, retire to the parlor
be it to gamble or to pitch some woo
being no true difference between them.

Whenever the voices of demons preach,
Remember the homey lane gravel strews
as naughty tentacles from distant depths
are highly allergic to the designs
the ivy genies can paint with eyes shut.

Highways without end do dangle allure,
but the slippery aims win in the end.

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About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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