"entitlements" poems
The feds are making headway
(generously passing out their treats!)
*while the whistle blower
and his boon companion
hit the 22nd floor*
fiscal plans
are tidily falling into place
and the suits are all busy
chasing their dimes
dancing around the spire
full of wine and cheer
(seems the demand side imbalance
has got everyone doing the same old shimmy!)
they’re all studying their bollinger bands
MACD's, and treasuries
just like the good old days
santali would say
while capitol hill is busy
with its own pleasantries;
*repatriate that currency
hold those rates
bring the boys back home!*
the affirmations are robust
and filled with glee!
conspiracy thinkers
are busy in their own back rooms
initiating the trade
and building their counter claims
as pork bellies
and soybeans
continue to soar
(looks like eddy and the margin men
are at it again!)
what happened to that bear masquerade anyways?
they really were a band of brothers
colourful clowns
with big painted smiles
ready to lead in any parade
but they met with the resistance
a horned wall
satan’s horsemen riding high
with bags hung heavy
under dark squinting eyes
are we near an end?
the undertakers will say
it's only a blink of an eye
to the thin red line
where risk takers and front men
all jump ship
debt addiction is crippling
and hell breaks loose
when entitlements are out
and towels are thrown in
there’s a center piece here
those pugnacious statesmen
with invigorating tales
have had their place
time to clip them at the limbs
and pull the punch from the bowl
(sobriety has its merits you know!)
let’s head to the commission
and throw darts to the board ~
seems the moral blueprints are fading
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 5:47 PM UTC
Like a male monkey you rises up
And thumps hard your chest-it is you and you only!
O Man! You forgets, who you are and what you are is Nature’s
She generously gives and she avariciously takes-
Just a few chances she is giving you to repent before she ruthlessly returns
She is a sharp, doubled edged sword-merciful and merciless!
Man, Humanity is not hostility: Humanity is humility!
Like Sheol that is never satisfied you want to swallow the whole world
Like death you want to take everything, big-small-you want to stomach all
Everything you want to keep to yourself, to be to your entitlements
You take and leave nothing at all for the harmless hopeless-the voiceless
Yet you easily forgets, when the angel of death calls it’s only you and your soul in burials
Your ill amassed pride, wealth and health is not with you anywhere in this your brutal trials
Man, Humanity is not gullibility: Humanity is generosity!
O man! O man! You fills the whole world with mortality
You have killed the sole essence of the soul’s endless immortality
With your undignified dishonesty, your free-will to filthy immorality
War you begins wealthy to get-war is a supernormal profiting business
Man, Humanity souls has never been subjects to severity but sanctity!
Innocent-as little as little children-you murders-they were inevitable!
Common civilians’ deaths are collateral damages-inescapable!
You forgets who you are-you are a little loaned, little you returns for judgment
Here no allies to look after your backs, no cracks to corruption kickbacks-
It is the fairest of all hearings, a ***** for a ***** it is not for a big spoon!
Man, Humanity is not ignobility: Humanity is dignity!
What you are given to govern you governs not
What you are given to take care of you pilfers all
For you and your lineages eternal legacies-the richest ever to have graced the earth!
Yet you forgets, Master a little while returns to put you to a rigorous account
And whoever much is given-that much is also expected, what will be your report?
Man, Humanity is not royalty: Humanity is loyalty!
Humanity is a community, not a sorority of individuality!
Humanity is not infidelity: Humanity is honesty
Humanity is not how wealthy: Humanity is how a loyal legacy
Humanity is not how large is your multinationals entity:
Humanity is how huge is your small heart-its hospitality
Humanity is a humble history, a saintly story!
© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 1:23 AM UTC
Heard a hip-hop anthem today
BOSS
“Michelle Obama… purse so heavy… getting Oprah dollars…”
A rhythmic dance beat spelling out
Confidence
And
Respect
A baller banner of pride
Flung to the ceiling, waving
Women’s independence
Black women’s power
I see it…
But
Is an album adorned with 5 sultry females
Clad only in a man’s shirt and high heels
Singing show me the money
Sold to the club scene to inspire ***** shaking
And Yeager bomb throwing
So we forget the work week challenges
Relationship pains
And
Embrace vicariously our entitlements
HELPFUL?
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 3:02 PM UTC
A journo aware, equally at home in Palaces, Halls or the streets
Trained to vision duplicity slants and angles and know the crux
Able to see the story behind the story behind the story and more
In ethics robed proudly while mendacity and shenanigans cry shy
Show me the Dai Lama in a crack den or Bill Gates ******* in Goa
Semi demi illiterates with joined-up thinking or unthinking
Immatures lacking emotional intelligence or gainful statures
In groupthink mired settles on group delusions in vicissitudes
We're programming or flooding seeds of doubts or confusing
As if maladroit fantasies are gospels not simpletons' chicanery
Dismissives sad dolts duly outflanked and outclassed inherently
Ignoramuses crude and coarse in true form lacking introspection
Wear disgrace proudly in persistence and parade idiocy fittingly
Strength in numbers neither nullifying stupidity or indignities
Indulgent cowards and sick gate-keeps of unearned entitlements
Nonentities, rabble rousers shamed vigilantes in emotional dearth
Claiming and luxuriating in the depravities of their deficiencies
I remain what I am and no apologies necessary for august status
Your diminutive deeds merely reflects your statures and intellects
Little minds already condemn you to suicides of real aspirations
CopyrightLaurenceA6thNov2018.allrightsreserved
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 3:10 PM UTC
*the ones warring on the flag of defeat can't be called either troll or parasite... too noble such entitlements, they are the **** genus worthy of ignorance, that they are found roaring on the flag of defeat, when such publicity is allowed of public musing deeper than soft-spoken in one's own room, as transcript of thought made public, ironically without one's geographic coordinates... and what lack of honour to be warring with such circumstances being allowed.*
i shouldn't have written my words among poets,
too many simplicities surrounded them,
with the poets came made surrogates,
a stillbirth, if nothing more
9 months of **** as the new economics
that gave us appreciative homosexuality,
a curbing of the expeditions of population
we didn't blame on Chinese or Blue Indians
due to having inherited masochistic Christianity,
the last greek mythology, THE, LAST!
and no more from the greek tongue! no more!
then the second feat of the suffragettes
that became the surrogates...
and yet, i stilled braved to sing
for the escapist tongue of
brotherhood that the misty mountain's cold
encapsulated... in which i braved
the brotherhood, every, second, counter,
to marriage to a woman...
domestication is no adventure! it's no adventure!
there is no fear and sudden death in
domestication... it breeds cattle! readied for
death not ready! *two dungeons deep and caverns old...
the pines were roaring on the hight!
the winds were mourning in the night...
the fire was red it flamed and spread,
the trees like torches, blazed with light.*
this... this is my ideal afterlife! take your Koran
and terrorism and take a **** in the desert with
the cats for worth of knowing such "exquisiteness"
as it might be worth mining in the dunes of sand!
while the thirst of metalloid and abstract horse-tow
gives your false timing...
and when you take this anger written on the flag
of defeat, and turn to warring with it on your own
flag of defeat... you will be conquered,
slain and tortured, as is my promise, always
honourable.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 7:36 PM UTC
the titles
lay about,
filed in no order,
some a mere notion,
some a finished few,
most a line or two
that
ask fervently for
birth, commencement,
not understanding
that finished,
need not mean ripened,
ready for release, consumption
some indeed,
awful layabouts
in no hurry
to complete their
appointed rounds,
or make their
unique composed sounds
spoke out loud
content to be,
yet-to-be
but already
wanting the entitlements
of being
just a title entitled,
yet even without shape,
content to be
content-less,
poem teenagers, I guess,
they want it all
all awaiting wondering
they understand how humans are born
but see no parallel to gestation literate
they see
infiltration, fertilization, conception,
automated, tracked and formulaic
the process similar,
but the exact moment of birth
knows no schedule,
some burst, some dormant,
aging beyond aged,
struggling to believe that
those who wait also serve
if you were to sit beside
this troubled man,
whose clouds need poking by,
perhaps,
your fresh fingers
could rocket them into
partum warmth fluid bathed,
then they would belong
to you
for you
were the trigger,
that fired them into existence
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 9:48 AM UTC
To Lovely Child of mine who is dearest to the Divine. Let your heart be bright, let your smile , in joy, shine. May you embrace your entitlements in life by drawing the line -
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 7:45 AM UTC
Dying the death
of a king
turned breathless pauper
thats recently watched
all the grains of sand
pass south
through orbs of glass
towards the grave.
Reaching to the heavens
from the floor
entwined in wails
and deep sunken moans
that labor in pangs
of anxious moments
which last for hours
and are only ever superseded
by short fits
of shaky sleep.
Hope and its former entitlements
simply derailed-
shattering each
of an un-numbered tomorrows
leaving them void
of how it was,
even though
that may have
been better
for sure.
However
when grand vistas
are moved by heavenly verse
or demonic desires
and the clouds are blown
east toward the sea,
its only done
so that the past-
has a chance
to dissipate.
Then appearing
far to blessedly late
is the painting
under the painting
of that holiday
when things seemed stronger
When sadly
it now clearly seems
we were silently
slipping away from one another:
one sliver of space at a time.
Jun 29, 2010
Jun 29, 2010 at 8:05 AM UTC
I am waiting for you.
I have been since your last call;
the last words that left your lips,
the way they shaped each sound,
crisp with feeling;
the last hold I received,
warm hands withdrawn into the cold.
And now I’m busy playing your constant, forever
eternal mind games;
waiting for an end I know has to happen,
and waiting for you to make your moves and marks,
haunting mistakes or gracious choices,
whatever they happen to be in your mind.
And now I’m busy holding my heart in my hands,
watching all the people pass me waiting on the ***** street,
feeling awkward,
feeling stood up,
nursing it from the rain
and polluted breaths of people eyeing off my treasure,
smoke steaming from gaping mouths and sharp exhales,
like cascades of shining gems and mounds of
glorious entitlements, rolling down dreams
to those huddled beneath the city lights.
And now I’m busy deciding how long to keep
holding it.
Or to place it back inside it’s chest;
to thrum and pulse alone regardless, because I told it to.
And now I’m busy trying to adjust,
to leave this alone,
move my feet and leave my post,
waiting for you.
Keeping me and you alive is exhausting.
Draining nuture and tears, touches and examinations
to check that we are ok.
Are we ok?
I haven’t heard from you in weeks, but
you said you would be here.
To tell me your answer.
To make all this relentless pressure in my skull,
tension in my body
go away.
What happened to you not being the bad guy?
Like everyone who trailed crumbs of running-out love,
driving to me though the gas tank has finite space,
and held out commitment as they cowered behind it.
I haven’t heard from you.
And I desperately need to hear from you.
Should I stay, or should I go?
Are we meeting halfway, or are you expecting me to walk to you?
But I’m not.
I haven’t heard from you.
And I don’t know if I want to anymore.
Or whether I should just make this stop.
Whether I should stop denying it, and commence the
pain that stems with loneliness myself.
To be honest with myself that it is what I have to feel.
To escape from you.
And let myself
breathe and mouth the words
‘I miss you’
to the empty air.
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 5:56 AM UTC
Under white bulbs
Dr. Black studies me through the glass.
I will be figure A on page three,
and how I purchase jazz CDs will be section II,
which will have footnotes
on 21st century Latinos in White suburbia,
the economic decisions of lost boys,
references to Dr. Earnst’s
Entitlements of the Capuchin,
and droll digressions on such and such and such—
dear Erwin musing on the thirteen times
we happened upon each other in life,
the most embarrassing being when I wore a pig mask
to what I thought was a masquerade
but which ended up being my own funeral.
One day we’ll vaguely recall the white sky on the morning
we met through an imaginary friend,
a girl who we forgot to name.
Does it matter, if it never really happened?
I just remember when you were a child
you looked through the glass for me,
and when I wasn’t there you waited through the night.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 9:18 PM UTC
They didn't call it privilege
Mum said its called responsibility
they didn't call it money
Dad said its called overdraft from the bank
then they made you sign a contract
that ties you to your education
for the next twenty one years
with a rider that contains a Clause
that you are hanged from the mango tree
in the back garden if you fail any exams
They weren't called older sisters
they were Prison wardens controlled by Mum
dare misbehave and its solitary with no meals for your ***
They weren't known as older brothers
they were sadistic Policemen who had no Rule book
They was no sense of Entitlement
there was ****** do as you're told till you leave my house
and dare bring it to disrepute and watch yourself swing from the mango tree
there weren't alarm clocks
they was be on time in the morning for school
or go see Rev Slattery for six of the best
And then after all these
you meet the snowflakes whose mums do it all
wash, cook, iron and nurture without a mango tree
and these snowflakes signed no Contract to pass exam
and they have no Rev Slattery with a cane,
who would be recognized by them as the Pervert he was
and would now be doing Ten years at HM pleasure.
they have sisters and brothers that are mates
and have chips and Maccy D on tap
and a system that gives their parents money especially for them
not that overdraft that my father had from Barclays
And these airhead snowflakes and sociopaths
point ***** Maccy D fingers and fish and chips mouths
tell fairy Tales and fables about
Silver spoons and Privileges
about a sense of Entitlements
about Greed and opulence
Proving that comfort and easy life causes Brain Damage.....
May 10, 2019
May 10, 2019 at 6:29 PM UTC
Poetry, to me is an eventuality of a mastery that is happily, or even tragically achieved, a seething, a reeling, a shining, a realizing of parts of our heart that depart and grow on their own accord.
The poet, to me is void of belief, and of whatever we think he or she should be, as they are likely a muse to somebody doing the same things, just needing a little commonality, before turning the complexity into a simplicity that even you can read.
The poem, to me is simply the spilling of ink, on blank sheets that loudly state their names before they leave, but explicitly received by shaking hands, and fading feelings, reminiscent of waking to forgetting dreams while brushing your teeth.
Its all any god ****** thing you will it to be really, and the poets are anyfuckingbody that lies, or speaks honestly, or even in between, even serious going all the way to silly, back to romantic, and stopping on scary, as it is all fairly subjective, to our positive, or negative perspectives.
It is merely what you make of it.
And it, well it is life, it is living, it is giving, it is taking, its making hearts feel at home when they are all alone.
Its leaving them the **** alone when they spill their guts, when they give their ***** and strut their lumps.
Its comparing cuts, and trophies, while soaking in the **** and learning something you never knew of.
Its shutting the **** up when you speak, so you can hear yourself think.
Its being a **** for the hell of it, from a life of dissatisfied self entitlements.
Its a **** but not a ***** a **** but not a lord, it is a delicate, fragile animal, to be adored.
It is everything
Every thing
Everybody
Every zing
Every song
Every painting
Every smile
Every frown
Every up
Every
D
O
W
N
Every in
Every out
Every hope
And every doubt
Every enemy
And every friend
It is every beginning
And every end
It is formlessness
In decent
Ascending
Contempt
It is poetry
And at the end of the day
Its all that's left
My everything
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 11:32 PM UTC
This turkey pardon is nonsense,
Clearly symbolic.
But people seem to
No longer grasp the extent
To which that symbolism goes.
The gobblers which we free,
Where do they go?
To live out their lives in solitude
On a quiet reserve.
The rest?
Well, we just put them to death
Enshrined in a yearly ritual slaughter.
Nothing like that situation of the natives
When we boil off all the water..
And you may say,
"You think of it too much,
Sign to it too much importance."
But I say you think too little
And too small.
You think of all the easements
As entitlements
And not ones which we took
Through invasion and subjugation.
Nov 26, 2024
Nov 26, 2024 at 8:44 PM UTC
There is a delusion of perfection blocking the gates between us
Your self destructive outlook underlines the inadeqacies I tried so desperately to deflect
With humor or sarcasm or impulsive unecessary habits
Hindering me
Entangling me into another dysfunctional abyss I cannot deny
These shattered hearts heal with unsolicited *** scandals whispered by the tounges of cowards
Piddling their intoxicated paddles with reruns of last years season highlights
It's all the same and we became complacent
Unmotivated by the unmet expectations of our nemesis
Our image isn't mirrored by that of what we strive we are lost in a maze of who is good, better, richer glory
Success is based on luck and come ups meanwhile
We are drained with greed and jealousy and entitlements holding one another in a ship wreck
dangling by a measly line off our last second chance
I knew you'd take me back
Even if we sink together
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 1:55 AM UTC
Attention: This is your trigger warning:
If you walk outside your door this morning
you’ll be assaulted by noise and light.
You may choose to go back to bed
to avoid the possibility of fright.
In fact keep the shades down
and the covers pulled up tight.
Don’t talk to people; some may disagree
with you; they won’t heed your plea
to change their minds to your view.
Don’t read books by authors who are male.
They might contain descriptions of female bodies
that remind you that under your clothes you are undressed,
and boys who look at you know that. You’ll feel stressed.
Avoid all books with mentions of violence.
Such as Civil War diaries or histories of World War II.
Your teachers may overlook the fact that you have certain entitlements
such as the right to be free of knowledge that is painful. You
also shouldn’t have to learn about cultures that are different from your own.
We all know that’s how seeds of anxiety and doubt are sown.
If subjected to these shocking things you could have a panic attack
because the knowledge that others don’t do or think as you do
will be traumatic. You’ll never come back
to sanity. You’ll be irreparably harmed.
You could learn that you cannot command that others think the way you believe that they should.
You wouldn’t want to know that. It just wouldn’t feel good.
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 8:01 PM UTC
tears are unlike tigers fed by buddhists: oh god... i wish i was a woman, then i’d not have cried my tears drunk, but sober, like any woman does, like any woman has... and my correction what inhabited by tartars fighting the teutons with the tartar i took as blood-relatives and the tuetons as politically-related; ivan made the entitlements of the title of tsar as worth cenroship of the coupon for the lean meat in hunting for war among the pole’s marshall law in dostoyevsky. be warned... my blood runs decided into the harvest of wheat and sweat, rather than the parlor room and chandelier corsets; while boney m filled the rest - inviting islam into europe by ignoring poland.
so drunk they want a rewrite...
i missed the joke...
got a rewrite instead...
was i plagiarising?
i don’t know... you know.
originally intended like sunrise...
instead taken as copyist of sun-and-orange...
can’t be repeated... but i wanted it said...
but they didn’t want it said... they wanted it unsaid...
wanted it seen but unseen and therefore thought
and when transmitted not really thought...
just willed... comparatively ingrained and lost too...
it was a charlie murray quote that got me...
i thought i was testimony... oh right... now i remember...
gay **** is really emasculating...
it’s like watching 90 minutes of football...
gay **** does that to you... really there
among ******* videos...
i just like watching the eyes...
i make eye-contact...
and it’s almost bowtie with the suffocating gag
of the girl...
but no... it’s more like niqab in the night... joke...
gay *** is more emasculating than football...
honest to god hear my prayer - while heterosexual
*** is really discouraging from transition
of daughter to ****** to ***** to wife to mother...
nibbled ******* unless it was islamic hide & seek!
ah... call mohammed... i need my head chopped off!
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 8:58 PM UTC
Cavalcade of companies,
Underpaying salaries,
Lucky country indeed,
Not good news to read,
So much for our economy,
Workers' entitlements, prithee,
Underpayment of salaries,
A dose of reality......
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 3:39 PM UTC
Day in and day out we feed.
The night grows tired when we need
An excess amount in times when struggles amount to greed.
Day in and day out we thirst.
Living in this material curse.
Hopeless gestures of wants and entitlements, forgetting we were humble first.
Day in and day out we learn
How the whims of life can sometimes burn.
Wishing for things when reality settles with different concerns.
Day in and day out.
This battle for your soul ensues.
No matter what you believe do good and good will find its why back to you
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 12:17 PM UTC
Ever know a person
who can’t let go of the past
in their head it eats away
what they think they should have.
How deeply
words can hurt
when hardened by jealous tone
words stemmed from
contempt
can cut deep to the bone.
The past is the past for a reason
let it stay
where it’s meant to stay
move on
from what you think is yours
make way for better days.
Show happiness
for others
even when it’s hard to do
believe it or not
it helps you become a better you.
You can’t change
what was never meant to be
but you can embrace
what you have in life but
only if you set your thoughts
of entitlements free.
Don’t let yourself get caught up
in the negativity brewing in your head
move on and enjoy what you have in life
let others do the same
focus on what tomorrow will bring instead.
There is power in words
and when used in kind
can comfort and sooth
a tortured heart, soul and mind.
So watch what you say
and just how you do
for some other sharp tongue
might just attack you.
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 5:03 PM UTC
When the aggression keeps taking possession of your soul.
When you anger and entitlements makes you violent.
When you are licensed by the state which supports your hate.
When your crime happens time and time again.
When you blacken and harden your heart against a group.
When you ignore the truth and our youth who cry.
When the sidewalk runs liquid red then dark dry.
How can you expect me not to see the hatred.
How can you expect me not to see the corruptions.
When I wipe back the tears and find my own outrage
And a part of me almost gives into hate.
Seeing bullet hole tear through my brothers cloth’s
Because every man is my brother
And every mother who mourns the loss
Of her child shot by the cops is my sister
When will this madness ever stop.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 1:33 PM UTC
Marriage was intended to make babies
not statements!
Marriage is a covenant before God
not governments!
Marriage is a promise to family and future
not quick investments!
Marriage is sacrifice and hard work
not daily entertainments!
Marriage is a mortgage and college fund
not tax entitlements!
Marriage takes a Father & Mother for a child
not village managements!
Marriage is lived and enjoyed in private
not public amusements!
Marriage is between husband, wife and God
not life partner arrangements!
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 9:47 AM UTC
***Marriage was intended to make babies
not statements!
Marriage is a covenant before God
not governments!
Marriage is a promise to family and future
not quick investments!
Marriage is sacrifice and hard work
not daily entertainments!
Marriage is a mortgage and college fund
not tax entitlements!
Marriage takes a Father & Mother for a child
not village managements!
Marriage is lived and enjoyed in private
not public amusements!
Marriage is between husband, wife and God
not life partner arrangements!***
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 1:04 PM UTC
If you are sad, then sing,
About each and every anything.
If you're happy, then dance,
Maybe even in your underpants.
If you're violent, perhaps enlightenment,
Time to give up your entitlements.
If you love, it's from above,
From that celestial place we've all heard of.
Be kind. Please. First be kind.
Feb 20, 2021
Feb 20, 2021 at 11:10 AM UTC
I lie here awake at night.
Thinking.
Dreaming.
Believing.
I will never be the same person I once was.
But I can only hope, that I will become the person I want to be.
The person I’m meant to be.
For I have escaped.
And what’s that you ask?
What have I escaped?
You will only know through the truths I’ve encountered.
For I, will no longer give in.
I fear lies.
entitlements,
and envy.
For I don’t want to mistake your promises for prophecies that will never exist.
You destroyed me.
Your destruction compelled me into believing that there was better.
And that the pain would end.
But it didn’t.
It grew stronger.
And so, I grew stronger too.
But I did from you.
I ran so fast, that I no longer allowed your lies to fool me.
You couldn’t keep up.
And you kept trying to take me away from everything I built.
From the new person I became.
And the new bond I had created within myself.
But it hurt at the same time.
And it wasn’t easy to destroy the walls I had built around everyone else.
For you were the only one I let in for months on end.
And eventually, they came tumbling down.
Because I had so much fight in me, that I believed I could escape you.
And for a minute, just a moment, I second guessed everything.
But I knew it was you drowning me, because you swallowed me whole.
For years.
And this was my year to thrive.
Mar 12, 2020
Mar 12, 2020 at 5:36 PM UTC
*the irish call this a well established word salad,
half of them are qualified psychiatrists,
because they think language
ought to be an arithmetic rubric understood
well enough for manual labour arguments to take
the populace numbers off their backs of via
ennobled cunt-fiddlers taking the entitlements
of prince or king be left holy
so that the politicians can ********** with power
and powder and vote... i veto my democratic right
of vote... i veto it! you sign your name with an X,
you vote with an X... you educate yourself
in order to be debased with only an X...
**** your X... many st. andrews in the english parliament!
you think you'll make me an "illiterate" person
voting? the vanity of the fallen armies for my literate
signature signed as once demandingly categorised:
illiterate. to hell with democracy's booth!*
and when drinking defeats me
i truly serve
a sobering-up programme
that has a life-span of a day
and a female companion
that's worse than a canine *****
barking: howl howl hoof woof!;
i too wish... i wish i wish i wish....
i never had... and that serpentine
labyrinth with me the Minotaur
for an exercise of ****** doesn't help;
and yet the cat in my bed, calm, snoozes.
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 8:01 PM UTC