i made up a pome, it goes like this, puctiation sucks and ignerince is bliss. spelling dont count and gramma is dead, so the only reel importent thing is what is in my head. It dont matter how i write it cause my brilience will shine threw, and the muse will kiss my finger-tips for sharing it with you. Insperation is what counts an it comes to me in waves, like raging storm tost currants: thats just how it behaves. My heaqrt knows I was chose, to write these words devine, and Heaven only knows... the plesure is all mine.