i look at all of these perilously perfect poems and i want to SCREAM
life, your life, mine is not a dream this is not a picturesque reality
please---can we try for a bit of authenticity? c'mon i mean
we all love roses and the sunset gleam but your life isn't
an oil painting (or a tv screen) so can somebody sit down
and write a few lines about the dull gray sky or how her eyes
looked less like a forest and more like a swamp (with flies)?