Taste the crap fully.
The corn eyes comatosed....
In between the folds of mash potato like obedience.
Fuckery makes hate great again.
The horrible rift established by
Religiously intolerant thetoric.
Reacting becomes classic.
Suffocation slowly creeps in and becomes expected.
The silence becomes tragic,
as the first amendment is shredded into nothingness.
And soon the corn eyes begins to multiply,
as stinking crap blinds the dreams of its corn fed yellow eyes.
Remember, fake news like corn never sits well in the tummy.
Comes out at the other end.
Brown chunky oatmeal,
with corn eyes wide open looking stuck upon the mountains and mountains
of left over **** traffic coming to a sudden halt.
Where is lady liberty?
My original democracy loving tv dinner Mommy.
This is the diary of zombie corn eyes.
When a new jacking off tax becomes a liability for those professionals tryimg to make money off their favorite part time hobby.
(C) copyright 2020
The erosion of commonsense and freedom of speech
I sit in my chair
waiting for water to boil
to cook a cool meal.
Married for 4 weeks...
it doesn't seem like that long
every moment's bright.
Time to boil the corn
I already made the cheese
smoky lime queso.
He's watching the end
the show he started last night
the last episode.
In half an hour
I'll tell him dinner's ready
and he'll smile so big!
I am eating delicious
sweet corn and chicken soup:
sweet crunchy corn,
soft flavorsome garlic,
stringy delectable egg,
tasty chewy chicken,
and hot savory broth
which warms my torso;
I am enjoying
of being alive
I dreamt that
The sweet corn
Was ready in the fields
Then I awoke
That it’s only June
So now I’m sadly
I’ve got two months to wait.
Seriously.... bring on the sweet corn fresh from the field. Boil it up... Butter and salt... boom.
Somewhere in a meadow
Beneath the rows of fielded corn
Between the sky, above a water way
Where a million tiny ears are born
And listening to the winds of voice
To the cackle of crows driving away a hawk
Living there, somewhere amongst a meadow seeded
Are a thousand, growing, listening stalks
All born to stand, but not to walk
It's no crime to stand. Not all are meant to walk.
I was making my way down
Cornfields on both sides of me.
The moon shined even though
It was still day time.
The sky was a light lavender shade
That oozed into a faded blue
Twilight, you could say.
I caught a glimpse of a doe
And her baby
Walking through the endless field.
My mind wandered.
Where did they come from?
Perhaps they came from
Deep in the woods,
Where the birds sang
And the creek bubbles,
The sun seeps through the trees.
Perhaps all the animals got along,
They came from an open field,
Maybe they had a family,
A buck, a herd,
Possibly even a few more fawns.
Maybe something drove them from there.
Maybe a gun,
Maybe a predator,
My mind wandered more,
Where were they going?
Were they looking for somewhere safe?
Or were they only trying to survive?
I wished I could see more of their journey.
I wanted to root them on.
Where ever you're off to, keep going!
Then the moment passed,
They were long out of my sight.
I hope they are still alright.
I hope they were alright.
fresh and printed new
as the glistening morn dew
tis a lovely view
old and so well worn
as the near dead cobs of corn
tis a sight forlorn