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Marines call to say hello, impress. I'm over 35 but my boys 19. They could go: Hide! One moment spent tying a shoe, another dying, gunshot wound or poisoned food. Events in their mere chronology                                                        make no sense. And the details of yr dad's life don't either.                                                                         Late night quiet cigarette smoker. But next day, the butts cleaned into the can. Who does that? Lady in a skirt or overalls rolled up - cigarette smoke. Now it's yr dad.                             Yr dad who                                                  watches for war. Even if Uncle Sam disbands, dissolves we the people will still be here and stay involved with North America. The purple mountains majesty                            and shining seas little people, big people, brown, red, and white. Addicted                            to action movies. Perhaps there is no choice. One must sit, sitting still                            as a buddha, sitting bull. I can imagine myself and all others - drivers, voters, runners -                            little fetal muscles at first. Metastasizing. What's it called when the cell                            at the tip of the ***** or organism, divides, and the ***** grows? It's called                            girl on a bicycle. I find I make no sense. Her **** a practicality to her, is                            delicious to me a miraculous sea lettuce or snapdragon. You've heard it before.                            A moral dilemma wrapped in robes and silks and odors. Yet, come close,                            and business beckons work gets done, life goes on, hair grows in, we go on                            vacation the Marine Corps calls, desperate for new fetuses to teach                            purposeful workmanlike killing I'll do my own killing, thanks, when violence comes to the       neighborhood                            if I've got your back your back's gotten and if I'm on point, the point's taken. One world under God invisible with liberty and justice for all who                            Art in heaven what the hell's his name.                                           Nemesis.                                                           Hysterical. The small war of an especially inept empire. The world's too big to swallow as the Krauts and Nips found out. Empire is self-correcting. Them dark-skinned mustachioed ********* who can't fix their own electricity seem to be kicking our ***** pert good. As did the ***** before them. All to the good. A good lesson to know and then we all become friends following the brawl. We apparently cannot skip the fight. It must be fought, and **** the girls.
0
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 8:24 PM UTC
Marines Call to Say Hello
Marines call to say hello, impress. I'm over 35 but my boys 19. They could go: Hide! One moment spent tying a shoe, another dying, gunshot wound or poisoned food. Events in their mere chronology                                                        make no sense. And the details of yr dad's life don't either.                                                                         Late night quiet cigarette smoker. But next day, the butts cleaned into the can. Who does that? Lady in a skirt or overalls rolled up - cigarette smoke. Now it's yr dad.                             Yr dad who                                                  watches for war. Even if Uncle Sam disbands, dissolves we the people will still be here and stay involved with North America. The purple mountains majesty                            and shining seas little people, big people, brown, red, and white. Addicted                            to action movies. Perhaps there is no choice. One must sit, sitting still                            as a buddha, sitting bull. I can imagine myself and all others - drivers, voters, runners -                            little fetal muscles at first. Metastasizing. What's it called when the cell                            at the tip of the ***** or organism, divides, and the ***** grows? It's called                            girl on a bicycle. I find I make no sense. Her **** a practicality to her, is                            delicious to me a miraculous sea lettuce or snapdragon. You've heard it before.                            A moral dilemma wrapped in robes and silks and odors. Yet, come close,                            and business beckons work gets done, life goes on, hair grows in, we go on                            vacation the Marine Corps calls, desperate for new fetuses to teach                            purposeful workmanlike killing I'll do my own killing, thanks, when violence comes to the       neighborhood                            if I've got your back your back's gotten and if I'm on point, the point's taken. One world under God invisible with liberty and justice for all who                            Art in heaven what the hell's his name.                                           Nemesis.                                                           Hysterical. The small war of an especially inept empire. The world's too big to swallow as the Krauts and Nips found out. Empire is self-correcting. Them dark-skinned mustachioed ********* who can't fix their own electricity seem to be kicking our ***** pert good. As did the ***** before them. All to the good. A good lesson to know and then we all become friends following the brawl. We apparently cannot skip the fight. It must be fought, and **** the girls.
robert-ronnow
Written by
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 8:24 PM UTC
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