ignorance is free while truth costs 30 silver pence April showers bring only sludge that slowly birth the sun’s defense winter cooks hibernate their tarnished snores fill the air ungreased wheels forget to squeak while crowbars pry up penny nails he burrows deep beneath the roots and grants the cat his flapping tongue questions hide from prying eyes and books come in one color the milk’s so thick it will not spill the hotcakes mold and shrivel with hair piled high, she sits alone trapped by her fun-house image as slow as eyes snared by insomnia find your strength in sameness you only need a single hand to make our circle straighten
Day 13’s NaPoWriMo challenge asked us to play with “turning cliché’s on their head.”
Voila . . . hope it works!