As the brilliant morning sun adds specks

As the brilliant morning sun adds specks of gold to my eyes I speak. The thought that becomes sound somehow becomes reality. Serenity overwhelms, these gold specked eyes are bliss.

"Why thank you Martin, that was.. interesting". Martin hated Ms Jennings. She had no appreciation of poetry. He suspected she was Vogon. Many years later he attended a poetry slam

Pink's house. Martin had gotten there through a series of happy accidents and terrible misfortunes that befell him in a single night. The poems were just a freak occurrence

and writer's block had transformed from a mental issue to a physical object of burden. Martin tried to move the large writer's block so he could write his poem but it just grew eve

r larger and more depressingly granitey, occupying practically all the space on his already inadequately small desk. But then he had an idea - and producing a chisel, he began to

chip away at the granite. Day & night he'd sculpt looking like Charlton Heston playing Toulouse Lautrec. Eventually the dwarfish genius flung down his chisel. On his desk lay a sma

ll representation of David complete with fig leaf. He did all Michelangelo's work with near microscopic percision. Being a miniature himself, he knew the details were important.

Obviously David's penis did not fall into that category, as the original was there in all of its uncut (if microscopic) glory. But, still he persisted in his censored forgeries of

celebrity genitalia, which he sold to tourists down on 6th Avenue. "Oy very!" his mother sighed. "Why couldn't you have become a pharmacist like your cousin Morty?" David ignored