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I wanna throw the dinner plates to the floor,
hard so they crack,
pieces shatter and explode,
across the tiles of my flat.
They’ll embed themselves in the wall,
or in the couches, or in skin,
They’ll embed themselves in me,
So I feel the impact, the sting.
The pain would register, I would scream
until I have no voice left to be released.
I would smash down all the others,
and won’t be satisfied until porcelain covers my skin,
glass blankets the floors,
and all the cupboards are empty.
My brain will feel so blank
that I won’t know what else to do but
slowly clean the mess I’ve made.

I've edited this one
Ours is to provoke thought , stir lively conversation , relay life experiences on every occasion , brushed with a tad of fantasy tinted on the mortarboard of creativity and brilliant imagination ...
Quiet walks through country lanes that come to creation before the storytellers keen eye .. Cicada filled trees , blackberry thickets , strawberry dreams and Esquire rabbits ,
June Bugs on shoulders edge telling tall tales , Sir Bullfrog in character at the wishing well !
Relaying truths to conjure hope in the layperson , with austere poetic compilation , guidelines and hardened steel reserve commitment to excellence before my peers !
Copyright January 23 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
daringly to
a million degrees celsius pulse

magnetically until
streaming showers

of mass
ejections

fluctuate
sporadically
If I ever get my feet back on the ground,
I'm going to buy me a bottle and head on in to town.
I'm going to find me a girl that treats me kind,
one that pays some attention to what's on my mind.

Dollars to donuts, we'll feel real good,
anything and everything will go down just as it should.
No more thistles and thorns, no more raging thunderstorms.
No more boot heels on the ground, no more horrendous hissing sound.

We'll bring to the table just what we've got,
we'll spend when we are able and stay home when we're not.
We'll kick up our heels to those Celtic reels,
forgetting how it feels to be scrounging our meals.

Those will be the days that we'll choose to recall,
I know this is a phase and better times will put an end to it all.
Dollars to donuts, these hard times will pass,
dollars to donuts, these hard times won't last.
Delivered to the academy of criminality at thirteen , studied under the masters , received a degree just prior to release , now walking the streets beside his captors ...
Educated by the state , now a wounded animal has been thrown from it's cage , to fend for himself at age fifteen , to make a living in his early teens ..
Fast food won't pay bills , no high school degree and zero skills ..
A life sentence for one mistake , a bright future snuffed at a tender age ..
Copyright January 24 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
It's enough to
make a grown man
cry

PVC's
Modern Man
running through
my
blood stream

I look up
I look down
when ever I look out
it's all around

PVC's
Modern Man
running through my
blood stream

In looking for our
salvation
in the consumer ****
a darkness always
descends

Consternation
Frustration
Anticipation
Adrenal Exhaustion

Enough to make
a
grown man
cry

PVC's
Modern Man
running
through
my blood stream

Fukashyma
radioactive poisons
going to make
PVC's
look like old friends.

Modern Man
running around our blood stream
once
again.
Polyvinyl chloride the plastic in many of our containers we use to drink out of, microwave, etc.  they are running around in all of our blood streams, the oceans,
every where.
Fukashymia keeps on melting down and no one knows how to stop it.
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