2 Rhymes of the Times

It’s like walking into a sensitivity chamber. Where, if you talk too much or talk too little, sip too much or sip too little, the regulars will find something to belittle. Keyboard warriors, simps who huddle in dark corridors while all of us are at the front doors of Moridor. And they’re hollerin: close the Boridors.

Frown and laugh lines like contour lines on a topo map. The ebbs and flows of life are what put life on tap. In yo face at a frantic pace, pull back and remember it’s not a race. Slow the pace and smell the roses, unravel yourself like garden hoses.