If Words Were a Waltz

If words were a waltz on a page of this stage, men might linger on language, and languish the age as each tip of the heel, with each click of the tongue, renders syllables spoken or broken, as sung. Where each note is a blot bleeding thoughts into strings, when the spots we call words…

Ira and his Idioms

Ira was a pensive boy who loved to speak his mind, until he thought upon a phrase which faced him in a bind. “Speak my mind?” What does that mean? Does it mean my brain can talk? Is it French or Dutch? Does it shout too much? Is its aim to simply mock? When someone…