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Description
I was a terrible speller since the second grade, and spell-checks spoiled me more for the nitty gritty, nuts and bolts, pencil and paper times and the happy accidents that sometimes arise their goofy countenances therein to preen, giggle and pout, ease the toil, the perpetual struggle—beginning with a fresh newly sharpened pencil gripped in my chubby, second-gradish, dimpled hand, and a blank sheet of thick, sturdy, ruled, babyish paper on my small desk like a blank map leading to glory, an X to mark the spot, perhaps, to struggle with the words of men in the year of ‘72, to today’s wrinkled hand of opposable rule of thumb, can make the struggle seem of worth. The work is what remains still, the work is what We have all ways.

Description
I was a terrible speller since the second grade, and spell-checks spoiled me more for the nitty gritty, nuts and bolts, pencil and paper times and the happy accidents that sometimes arise their goofy countenances therein to preen, giggle and pout, ease the toil, the perpetual struggle—beginning with a fresh newly sharpened pencil gripped in my chubby, second-gradish, dimpled hand, and a blank sheet of thick, sturdy, ruled, babyish paper on my small desk like a blank map leading to glory, an X to mark the spot, perhaps, to struggle with the words of men in the year of ‘72, to today’s wrinkled hand of opposable rule of thumb, can make the struggle seem of worth. The work is what remains still, the work is what We have all ways.