Here be it: a bold blow-by-blow poetic dish served cold, garnished with lashings of diverse words-of-the-day.
The year bumbles through the Covid fray -still- with new word seasoning and a sometimes jamais vu reasoning. To survive (in style) the pestilence plight, we bring humor, be it blackish, to the fight. (It is almost never funny to be flippant in the face of heartbreak, for anybody's sake, and it's been a hard year for so many.)
Purloining Like a Poet is one way to calm the beast of anxiety, even when the news is atrocious:
It's a bird, no, a word; it's a plane, no, a poem; it's Superman, no, Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious passion fish and poem frites, wrapped in paperless print, and bound in a panoply of Poemflit, for your enjoyment, and also as a hellish hiccup of presque vu haecceity.
Selah.
"Immature poets iimitate; mature poets steal" - T. S. Eliot
