B4 Clocking Out

The Petite Sirah urges audaciousness, a lack of regard.  Want to follow, but I’m too tired.  Life, for this writer, as Humans all, abbreviated.  Additional sip, realizing I’d like a photo to push the paragraph.  Think I found one.  The wine surface, like a revolving door in a frenzied metropolis tower, endless current.  Want my writing to reverberate, like deepest of reds.  This Kaz Petite, spurs my sentences.  In a couple minutes, going to go old-world.  For a writer.  Meaning, pen to paper.  This keyboard, beginning to tower in menacing tones.  One more sip, clocking out ...

(4/1/11, Friday)