?
I’ve got no choice,
me,
then to walk in
and get a drink
a sandwich it seems
I mean
what else’s would be a
different eat
my stomach grumbles
consciousness fumbles
less of an
existence
a human me
life is somewhat fleeting
if I don’t
without a small fruit drink
or some water.
as water drips from a faucet.
as a woman parks a car
between two doors that will need to open
imagine,
as the news goes on, sufficient enough,
as I decide what I’m waiting for,
nothing less then a mental need
where hunger is the deep feeling
not a glass nor plastic drink.
the line moves on
I’m now closer,
a glass door /
clatter, noise.
- a
it’s tiring
in the beginning there’s always this poem inside of my mind,
it feels as if
happens each and every time i want to write a poem,
something like then wanting to speak up of
but i don’t know what of
so i, each time, begin to write
something like
these birds outside
or these trees i see, and end up writing
within the poem
she (she; she: to me ..).
for some reason.
perhaps its pertinence
nonetheless an important need, that
comes to haunt a person’s
thoughts whenever a male person’s mind opens, up, for a presently-beating heart
rather then asking.
- a
a clock: ticks
after his aids left the man in disgrace,
they all came over to meet sometime in the afternoon
imagine,
well the aids remain,
on a hospital bed
left to dead,
i don’t mean to rhyme this poem,
he
dials the
number to order a pizza for 8,
for him, self.
- a
thomas f dixon jr, an american romantic
to hate a person,
enough to write a novel of
those who killed for
nothing less then to
contemplate
their selves on
top of
other women and men,
and a man of cloth at that
a minister, purveyor of holy facts
thomas f. dixon jr! Sir!
I beg of me to respect at least some of u for u’ve
existed enough to deserve at least
a
god bless his family, he’s now gone.
god bless us all, thomas f. dixon jr is now gone.
- a
a, nice, small, wild, plant
a wild stem less plant
for miss nice white belted pants,
so that I
can
pretend I’ve
been to france somewhat,
before, I’ve
got no other choice but to
compete in life, so
I’ve
worn the shoes that I feel u’ll like and a baseball hat.
a wild plant, I’ve picked, a yellow one, walking, inside of a hand used to not
doing much about life.
so, is this love? ours.
- a
a finished version of a modern woman
she feels the urge to
to which I concur to
would u?
for someone’s meat and some fries from some paper bag or
a
bag of chips as a side of a big, person’s, dinner meal
a culmination
after so much dedication
dedications
which came from an
aesthetic emancipation if u will
(a picture shown) from around this!.
a premonition
now he’s looking too close
as I have.
it’s either she or u it seems.
u’re
the
?
a male or female friend
u’ve
the worst of ur kind, u feel u’ve / u’ve
ruined her life.
or
ice cream
s.
ur the
bottom of a mug
the top of a cup
a pile of mug
black for some white
u’re the
‘same’.
rejoice.
she runs the course.
u can look if u’d like.
look, if u’d like to, now.
now.
- a
a metaphor for / a present past
the
wife of a serious man,
woman to a husband u’ve found for ur self
and u’re wearing red shoes
u wear,
ur hands help u stand, ur hands on ur
counter top
I stand outside right near painted wood of a small round kiosk
I’m scared, afraid somewhat
as cars do drive around me, here
I stand outside and I do look inside
at a picture I’ve often seen
in a horrid dream
of mine
as much as this poem is a dream to me.
inside of a window, I wait outside.
u’re inside of a window, inside of which I look.
both of our doors closed,
open for.
- a
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