glazed donut

Enveloped in media glaze – fin

Linx to a poem; my thoughts and feelings on living in the here and now, how to maintain, roll up the past, defy not deny fate, roll it up and choose destiny.

My funny bone is not funny anymore. It hurts. When i strike it. These incidents, once funny-by-accident, are now just plain accidents.

My funny bone is an accident waiting to happen. I got it insured through the my friend, the organ grinder, over at pick-and-pull boneyard, at the corner of elbow and knee streets.