"establishments" poems
The word, defining, muzzles; the drawn line
Ousts mistier peers and thrives, murderous,
In establishments which imagined lines
Can only haunt. Sturdy as potatoes,
Stones, without conscience, word and line endure,
Given an inch. Not that they're gross (although
Afterthought often would have them alter
To delicacy, to poise) but that they
Shortchange me continuously: whether
More or other, they still dissatisfy.
Unpoemed, unpictured, the potato
Bunches its knobby browns on a vastly
Superior page; the blunt stone also.
17.8k
We are watching your every move in the airports of america
like the stock market every day.
We are telling you that this is the way you should talk about
other cultures because we are the thought police.
We are telling you that we will close your fun establishments early
because we want to change the culture.
Yes folks Big Brother is watching.
We are demanding you buy into the TSA agenda of taking away your privacy at airports.
We are demanding you sacrifice freedom because 9/11 was our way of starting the New World Order
Yes folks big brother is watching your moves.
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 2:06 PM UTC
*In memory of, and with respect to the victims of the 2011 terrorist acts in Norway.
As the weather resembles, one remembers...*
Perhaps if you went to my school,
You'd have gotten beaten up for your egocentricity
Long before it grew to such deranged preportions.
As misplaced as the runes you carved into Glock and rifle;
You'd have been not only estranged, but broken.
Disarmed decades before detonation.
Alas. A distorted berserker you ploughed through
Establishments and hearts; an armed teenager fuelled on
Video games, soft candy and steroids.
Pity the nation that nurses such an unpoetic national enemy.
We forgot your name and face, as you never knew ours.
The symbol we chose was an ocean of roses,
Like torches held to our love unharmed.
Norwegian leap year two-thousand-eleven;
Only twenty-two days in July.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 4:25 PM UTC
the homeless are ******** in the streets,
well some of them are
the homeless have been ******** in the streets
a lot lately
when they are not getting scatological on the streets of seattle
they are conjuring the other images of themselves, because there is always so much more to this story
as they sit on the sidewalk and/or in entrances of shops, restaurants, and other commercial establishments
throwing empty beer cans in the street
at the people walking past
they say seattle is going to be the next san francisco
because that is what tech is, nothing new
forgotten already done ideas redone
same price tags same coast line same **** in the streets
they must have thought something better
was here, waiting for them
when they rode into town
from other towns
housing, more drugs, a new life
in these streets that they **** in
not sure what they heard
their tents under the over pass
their trash upon the hill
overlooking the highway
their tents always have a highway view
their trash too
i should be that afraid of my own life
of what tomorrow will be
oversharing in a voice
that is not my own
miss jean brodie in **** city style
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 5:16 AM UTC
In the Beginning, there was only The Divine Song;
The vibration of which gave birth to the ether.
The ether coalesced
And begat the Great Evil.
It grew, and grew, and grew Greater still;
The Evil wanted to be God so it denied us free-will.
The Divine, being sublime, decided not to Fight,
For the Love that is ALL prevented the exercise of might.
The Evil appeared to overtake the Light.
Until The Divine whispered the words:
You shall NOT surely die!
T'was the antidote for the Original Lie.
His plan foiled, The Great Evil grew Angry
And he cursed all of Humanity for insulting his vanity.
The Divine could allow this, as it is his nature.
He still loved the Evil, it was his creation.
There was but one rule:
You may not deny them their Free-Will!
You may control the prophets.
You may tell them you are I.
You may command them to do whatever you wish.
You may even send MY son there to DIE!
You may command them to write down your words,
To worship you most high.
You may set up establishments all over the globe.
It will only be more of your lies.
No matter how you torture them on Earth,
They will NOT surely die!
Aug 5, 2012
Aug 5, 2012 at 10:48 PM UTC
Traditionalism is what they follow,
Prehistoric is how they live,
Caring none about real human beings!
They depend on human protection,
Yet they pray the lifeless idols & establishments,
Statues & religion they call them and waste money on them.
They would do their own important work,
Tell me to better stop writing these blasphemous poems,
Praying, remembering the lord & idol-worshiping is all they care about.
People like them won't donate directly to the poor,
They say that they put some money in the places of worship,
Idols - their idols is who they live for and survive by.
My telling this to my countrymen or anybody in the world is vain,
They would still go to on or more places of worships,
Think that it is not idol worshiping and again not serve the needy directly.
They can only criticize me for writing blasphemous words of pain,
They would even fight with or **** me if they got hold of me,
But they won't stop idol-worshiping and start serving the poor directly themselves.
A Messiah calls the idol-worshipers,
To avoid going to places of worship,
To come and serve the real world,
To realize that what you are losing,
To help you realize the value of humanity,
To make you realize the value of the real world.
If you're not scared of change then join me in this new religion,
Here we don't worry about God/Ishwar/Bhagwan/Rabb,
But we do things that make The Power Happy,
Do social service and cleaning their houses,
Help the needy monetarily/practically,
Instead of just donating somewhere,
Shun donations to the places of worship,
Go to the needy personally or parcel them happiness,
Make sure that the courier service/other establishment you use is 100% genuine.
Avoid those agencies who are supposedly in one of the common names of The Power,
Hire a company/firm to actually make your donations reach the needy,
It'll be very helpful for the humanity which is prime & real,
Try this by whatever methods you find genuine,
You'll feel yourself elated & calm,
Take my word,
Seriously.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 4:26 AM UTC
Oh! How the Winds of Time blow!
Gently nurturing a tiny spark
Into a Roaring Inferno.
Whether it be Love, Passion, Revolution, or Dreams,
The Winds of Time met them when they began
And whisked them to the Highest Heights!
Oh! How the Winds of Time blow!
Fiercely attacking Eternal Establishments
'Til they are nought but dust.
Whether it be Love, Contentment, Stability, or Success,
The Winds of Time met them at their Highest Heights
And tore them down to their ignoble end!
Oh! How the Winds of Time blow!
Fickle and Changing and
Completely Unpredictable.
Oh! How the Winds of Time blow!
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 1:05 AM UTC
Read between the lines
running theme
running in and out
and inbetween
moments in my life.
Taunting me is Miss Mystery
and her sweet moments of ecstacy
carry me
to questions of implied imagery.
The space between each line I
write and read;
each line I wait on, drive on;
each line I listen between;
each line spoken to and from me-
Endless misunderstanding
undertaking me.
Undertaken me!
We never say
We never sing
what we really mean.
We never reach a destination
on these lines driven between.
The answer is hiding
for her benefit.
The answer has
Nothing to do with you
Nothing to do with me
Us, barbaric human beings
being arrogant with the lines
we speak.
Arrogance thriving between lines
paved with housing establishments
while the space between mountain ranges
sits vibrant,
patient.
All made of sunshine
All made of peace of mind
All made between the
thin line of atmosphere.
I actively disrupt her.
Mindlessly disregarding the
space between lines.
I act so possessively towards this
life of mine.
Yet, observant
I try to be.
Silent
I try to be.
And I try
to read between the lines
my mind project before my eyes.
My eyes: with lines protruding from all sides,
when I'm the least bit pleased.
Oh, least bit of knowledge I've gained
from these meditative rants that my
subconscious recalls only when there are
no designated lines to write between.
Lack of lines let's my subconscious free.
Selfish as each human being;
each human being free
I wait
more or less
patiently,
for someone to
read between my worn eye-lines
correctly.
Englightenment
I wait to
want me
or,
wait to
watch me.
I wait for the nameless to see me.
Desire's undertaking me,
Undertaken me!
I never say,
I never sing,
what I really mean.
Desire turned nameless me needy.
Me, the
Nameless human being
Nameless between
lines of Nameless Humans
being free,
being greedy.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 5:59 PM UTC
You’ll find them in all such establishments,
(Be they graceful small-town former Victorian homes,
Or cinderblock edifices mindful of some campus multi-faith center)
Sitting in the basement, cheek-to-jowl
With moldering burial records and banking statements,
Yellowed newspaper clippings, faded prayer cards
Small squared-off boxes hastily tabbed together,
Ostensibly temporary containers which have acquired
An unintended and wholly unwelcome permanence.
The whys and wherefores of their subterranean placement
A mixed bag of foible and outright foolishness:
Unresolvable squabbles concerning possession and burial,
Families that skipped out on the bill, leaving mom behind,
Cases of outright not giving a good-goddamn.
And so they remain, in lieu of repatriation and redemption,
To sit for something akin to perpetuity in some cases
(Members of the profession resolute in their respect
For the dignity of life,
Though their sincerity enjoys less unanimity)
While others wait for mass burial
Once legal niceties have been satisfied,
While still others, in care of firms not so scrupulous
About crossing their t’s and dotting their i’s,
Are flung, albeit somewhat surreptitiously, out the back door,
The remains to take flight if the grass is dry and the wind is brisk,
Otherwise to be left to the vagaries
Of curious birds and creped soles.
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 11:28 AM UTC
Shelter me like I'm "homeless".......
Not be a use I don't have an address.....
Merely because if home houses your heart....
There is a missing poster on the back of your ***** bottle....
Like the mistake on the bark where I once carved " true love"....
Happiness became of parking lot no occupied by strangers
Like titles reflect the hierarchy of spots closest to your heart
Methamphetamine now occupies the spot reserved for mom, dad and best friend
But time is a magician pulling white rabbits from memories ......
Where your the only audience members and you can only ask "how?".....
But like tricks fade into logic i always see the illusion
And memories become anger against the fraudulent belief in "time"
Grief is not a one night event where disbelief could refund your happiness....
And forgive ushers who now seem more like drug dealers....
Because the best seat they could offer only got you closer to regret
Life is the greatest notice pinned on a corkboard in shady establishments
Where the small print cannot be read at a passing glance
So later on in the alley where you self medicate.....
The dumpster contains the poster you so blindly believed.....
Now you see the possible outcome to the " greatest show on earth".....
Professionals on a closed course...... trained professionals should not be attempted at home.....
And I guess like I already said if my heart is "home".....
Then as an amateur on life's stage I'll leave actors like happiness, success and bliss to wow people at a great expense.....
But like a fool I invested every hope I saved into them.....
Now I'm bankrupt and homeless staring from the alley between life and death...
But the best part about next door is its free....
And must be worth the cost... no one ever seems to come out.....
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 8:54 PM UTC
The Girl from Coronado
Dark brown eyes the brownest hair the most captivating was the faraway look in her eyes the painter
Searches for her in lost dreams she materializes on the sharp trumpet blast then she lingers as it turns
Softly as the street in front of the Saint Louis cathedral in New Orleans she was as wistful she was the
Bleeding torment held in battle field shadows her way had the razor sharp that cut through pretense to
The real the meaningful what was that certain something that held you in awe was it the southern sea
Breeze that was absorbed the enfolding touches that were exuded from her depths there are still
Waters then there is Gloria is it fondly promised like flowers floating on the tide the sweet smile that
Cuts and divides the waves like a surfer coming out of the Banji pipeline her brown hair blows softly it
Has enlightened on the breeze as fragrance unspoiled unidentifiable it enthralls as she walks the sandy
Sea swept beach in the distance she passes as a spirit cast improperly in a human role to disturbing to
Fetching she makes appearances in Celtic dreams of misfortune she brings trouble as a winged wonders
Those that are not for evil but hidden in them are clandestine secrets that open new corridors of
Simplicity that brim with honor they are the culminations of promises long deferred now they are at
The door to restore she possesses powers that are seemingly strange but they are beholding the
Glimpses she allows trigger eager disruptions the common falls before her gaze you find establishments
That seemed impossible could she be Isis presumably not but just bearer of her traits one who gives gifts
Of the natural world to artisans from normal items joy is in them as fluid emotions they suppress but
Only for the pure cause of making greater results occur the tiresome is abolished the clay is gold even
Though it be hidden from many to the few it is cherished sought and redeemed by love in a sea side
Town on the southern coast of California her alluring beauty you too can possess this just open yourself
seek the opportunity to give to others your name will be favorably spoken like the graceful girl from
Coronado
May 12, 2012
May 12, 2012 at 3:00 PM UTC
New England is triumphant, as she maintains the historical roots of North America.
Rebellions were concocted in order to inform and subdue those who were impressionable.
It is unfortunate that truth was concealed by presumed greatness, and that the problem continues.
Political agendas prevail in the West in the name of consumerism, and the Great Architect of the Universe continues to unravel the delusion of a seemingly greater design. The obelisk will bow to cosmological establishments, and the flag of unity will no longer be recognised. I will now say goodbye to the President and his constituency.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 4:10 PM UTC
Every now and again, I think about where my dad might be, and what he might be doing at the very moment in which I think of him. “No dignity, no duty,” I remember my Grandfather saying. We, meaning my mom and I, think that his current dwelling is south, somewhere in Arizona. Maybe alone, maybe with a recent girlfriend who hasn’t realized how two-faced he is yet. It went something like this: when I was the little old age of three, he decided to leave me, my mom, and my sister. He said we were an expense not worth retaining. Having us around couldn’t pay back the debt he owed from his failing business proposition, the invention of a hybrid eating utensil that combined a fork, spoon, and knife together to increase the amount of table room at restaurants and finer consumption establishments for large parities of impatient patrons. His “would-be” investors claimed they already had the “spork” and that hybrid eating utensils were a thing of the past. He cursed the world, anointing the words **** you, I'll make it... I'll make it big somewhere else," and simply was gone ever since.
“Your father is a very bad man,” My mother explained to my watering eye. “I hereby excommunicate him from this family. We are going to love each other in this house.”
“What’s ex-chum-oon-eh-cating mean?” I asked diligently, wiping a tear.
“It’s what the Christian Church does to people who have been naughty. You’ll learn all about those religious doctrines in school, when you’re older. We’ll talk about it then little Bugaboo.”
And I was off to bed.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 11:29 PM UTC
*Feeling fairly good tonight,
a note to Bukowski to drink again.*
I lost the hours of nine,
ten and one to the wine, bought
but days before in a rush out the door;
it was wet and I was late
to a meeting with myself in a basement
where windows wait upstairs, the casement
a see-through hole to everything outside,
to everything I want to be-
- it's a silent show when these days happen,
usually conjured up from empty pockets
and the need to be nowhere important,
safety curtains fall in front of shops:
they are not libraries for browsing
they are establishments for purchasing-in-
nine and ten came back to me,
one still escapes though, lost
to the palm of a waitress taking the money.
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC
Free. Unrestricted. Unlimited.
The ability to overcome the stares and glares of judgment and see far ahead of and beyond them.
Further than their ignorant minds would ever care to see.
Free like black smoke rising from a stuffy shack on the side of a dirt road.
The freedom that the most free of souls long for.
If Birds were as free they would fly in all directions but the set route of migration.
If paintings were as free they would outgrow the sides of their frames and become their full forms, limbs and smiles included.
If the Nile was as free it would flow like the ocean it looks up to, unshaped by the selfish lips of the forest.
If the Atlantic was as free, waves would wave and remain in mid-air for as long as they wish before hunching their backs to embrace the Inner Sea.
If words were as free, they would reach far beyond the limits of a four cornered space and whisper into the ears of men across oceans.
If you and I were as free, colours would not be afraid to be vibrant. Sound would not be afraid to scream.
If you and I were as free, our arms would always praise the vast Sky. Our teeth would always greet the sun. And even in the worst of pain, our freedom would allow us to let go of our misery.
If we were as free, beauty would no longer hide within the unbreakable walls of a mere bracket.
If we were as free, borders and bridges that fought for centuries to keep us apart would crumble.
If you and I were as free, establishments would not be established for the good of greed, but rather for the good of man.
If you and I were as free, we would fly like magic. We would take over the nation as a nation.
If you and I were as free, stereotypes and prejudices alike would cease to exist. We would live fully, even through the journey of death.
If you and I were FREE, we would be.
If the world was FREE, we would always be.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 3:35 AM UTC
The feeling doesn't come around very often
An old friend familiar footwise to different pastures fitting the fantasy
New experiences constructing strong someone's admirable psychology, fresh beauteous landscapes making up the ends of days that aren't quite taken for granted, but nonetheless become more and more common
As life becomes such an obvious thing to engage with, to fill the mind with an intangible, unnecessary to reconstruct explicability, defining reality
Where that ******* smirk just works, and is taken for granted
Forgive me for being jealous
As austerity and holding back defines our culture in recent times, suits and faces for hating, numbers and reports spurring disparagement, and sentiments of dream and realisation eroded and rained down with flu
Optimism becoming uphill, a difficult sentiment to come naturally, I try nonetheless when such metaphysical and intense psychedelia sits uncomfortably in the back of the mind
Fuck's sake Britain give me a break
But um..
That girl, that guy, those people, that moment in all those minds that grows from a simple glimpse of a day dream into an empowering determination, realised more and more through presences and establishments from the outside world
Those are the opportunities I'm looking for, amongst solidarity in a fluid and ****** up world
As I steal that smirk from that smug self involved person in the paradise of personality
To see into space and realise how my reflection looks good amongst such fantastical potential realisations
Yeah.. I should go to sleep, but a bit of clarity as to my direction, a little a bit of mirror monologue giving a bit of 'you're all right', well it isn't **** all to complain about.
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 7:25 PM UTC
ask no questions:
you must obey;
and if you ask questions
you must accept all answers
there’s a teacher
and authority;
the student must ask
no questions;
just listen and obey
there’s the Parent
and children will do good
to listen and nod in agreement
you must obey
it’s good for you
it’s good for the Instructor
there’s the Great Leader
who issues edicts and reforms;
it’s nice of you to be informed
to mark and conform
there’s God in Heaven
and He’s (never a She)
given you Text Books;
school is in – and you must obey,
no questions…
there are Organizations
and Establishments;
look, it’s comfy and easy
for everybody
if you just followed
the rules and regulations
and don’t think outside
the Book of Instructions
ask no questions:
you must obey;
and if you ask questions
you must accept all answers
Sep 26, 2010
Sep 26, 2010 at 10:06 PM UTC
I hear you
in the music
I see you
in designs
I smell you
in pints
I taste you
in *******
I feel you
everywhere I go.
I hear you
In all the funky jazz beats
I feel you
In the rhythm
Even when I'm dancing with other men
You never leave my side
Our bodies
Electrified
Our souls
Intertwined.
Got me mesmerized
All wrapped up
In your rap tunes
You know how they make me feel
Like I'm floating
On the *** vibes
Totally lost in our world
You understand
My art
My love
My ***
They're all the same thing, you know.
I see you
In passing
In stores
In movies
In products
In fine dining establishments
This is when I know
I know you
When I can see you in the designs
In clothing
In an artist's painting
In a pair of shoes
The colors and shapes in a tie
All the art I see
I see you.
I smell you
In spliffs
Rolled in the finest tobacco
Packed exquisitely by you
Late nights after ***
You'd roll one up for us
I'd feel like a ******* queen
In your arms
But now
I smell you in the morning
When the coffee's being made
Never have I ever
Woken up by your side
Without the boldness of your coffee
Greeting me
With your love
I taste you
In every whiskey cocktail
In every bartenders ice cubes
In every microbrew
I taste you mostly in the IPA
But some nights I taste you in porters
And chocolate beers
Most of the time
Your flavor shows up
In the finest French restaurants
That we used to adore
I'd always have my red wine
And you the whiskey.
We were in love
With each other's art
And that's when I figured out
That's all life is, is
Sharing each other's love
Through art
***
And mystery
You are my love
My past
My present
And my future
Even when you are not in my present
Or my future
You will always be with me
I will always hear you
In the music
See you
In paintings
Smell you
In spliffs
Taste you
In whiskey
and love you
Like I've never loved before.
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 10:44 PM UTC
By daylight,
they sold
burgers & chips,
the atmosphere
a bit chill,
touristy.
But at night,
things heated up.
The dance floor rocked,
the tiny rooms rolled.
They sold something
tastier than
meat and potatoes.
Many a ******
lost their pesos
to such festivities.
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 7:14 AM UTC
One must take charge of his or her own life
Someone once wrote that
Life, like marbles block is given to all,
However, everybody doesn’t know how to layered such blocks
Even if they read the manuals on life and survival skills
With careful observation, it seem that the local
women spirit cracks so easily on the small Island of Bim
as the men moves on to other women’s
Leaving many on suicidal watch
I visited my old friends, on the island as time permits
And nothing seem to change, they older folks
Weakness still shows:
they lives seem to be on a standstill,
The little island girl in me Grieves within for them
Over the years, I have grown into a stronger woman
I demand respect from my friends,
especially the men
Its more women and not enough men to fulfill
Their ****** appetites, so life on the island become a *** war,
Infidelity is higher than ever,
where the flying fish is plentiful
whereas, some of the women seem so pitiful.
Older men with younger women
The middle-aged women either have to join a church
Or unfortunately,
lined the walls of the dance hall,
or pubs
While looking for love in all the wrong places,
The nights slowly moves into the wean hours of the morning
while the Barskeepers promotes the beer three for ten dollars
Snip snaps sounds is heard throughout their establishments
It seems more like humiliation than enjoyment
In the meantime broken hearts merges all over the place
The only patronage that seem to be having a time of
their lives was the tourists from abroad, who show
signs of unsteady gaits; but were having a wonderful time
On the Island of Bim
The barbecues grills filterers golden spark,
the music
Entices the air
the salted breeze, balm our lips even
Merging with the taste of the Bank beers,
and it was all well
on the island for that short period.
However, with all my finding and frustration, nothing
Can beat cold, cold coconut water
or a refreshing Bank Beer
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 1:14 PM UTC
I love you
As a friend.
No, no that isn’t right.
See that’s what i say
To hide how i feel.
When i say i love you
I mean
I love you.
With no establishments,
No walls.
See i love you
As the moon
Loves the stars.
There is them,
There is us.
And there is you.
I love you.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 4:16 PM UTC
What distinct dysfunction
Braided with wet, sickly kisses
It's amazing how they betray
Every sense of apprehension
Like a cracked, over baked
Homemade cookie
Inviting on the surface
With burnt underbelly
So the noon hour finds me
Seeking sweetness from establishments
Particularly named to suggest
A better reality lies in their arms
The rain can't let up now
It's fallen too strong, too long
Perhaps my tale follows suit
Let me contemplate over coffee, twelve sugars
My greed comes through the back
I recognize the sleight!
Singling it out without mercy
Generosity dressed in trickery
On this day, and those to come
I might stop to hold my tongue
To let the reminder settle & sink
Sing never for the sake of rewards
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 8:54 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
Didn't have any loyal people since day one,
but i was loyal to me,
tell me how can a black man leave behind his son?
somebody tell me,
after all the ******** I've ever been through,
nobody ever aided me,
The quote on quote friends that use to have my back,
never talked me,
so what hell you want?
No don't try to talk to me now,
talking all out the side of your neck man i bet you feel proud,
there ain't no savior that could save you from the hate i afflict,
you hate me but there are bigger things , like massacres and corrupt establishments,
Ain't no time to be having fits,
Ain't no time to be taking trips,
Ain't no time to be wondering when your insecure mouth will
take a ****** spit,
the man in the clouds never speak,
And most of the time the clouds are poisoned,
I guess that must be the reason,
The devil's feces in the airwaves ain't no time for breathing.
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 10:33 AM UTC
some other days our twenties dry like dry leaves
no cold establishments would take our souls
hey I just lost my job let’s drink with what’s left of my paycheck
I’d carry us a little bit higher than the rusty rooftops
if not, we’ll carry on as dreamers as the belligerents failures
of the previous generation into the four corners of
this small apartment
it’s a gathering of the minds
it’s all there is for us other than what wings that covers us
in our home, in the suburbs, in our comfort shelters
I get so tired of letting people know
that I just want to take back their idea of me
and of course, anyone of you who’ll lend me
the phrase “we’ll figure it out in the morning” will be much
appreciated
no need to force our depression-embodied bodies to work
we can bathe in alcohol lose another day loosen up lay down
get laid get high wake up late and despise the industry..
I thanked December way too early
now it has taken things way too seriously.
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 7:04 AM UTC
Dad I loved you.
Your the only father I knew.
It should have been just us two.
Our memories are so few.
You showed me I could trust a tomcat or a puppy.
To pet him & make a buddy.
I still can't cook.
To find the right food.
Caravores are selfish, sick, & rude.
My vegan species is divided.
Separate dwellings unspecified are hided.
Recipes unconfided.
What is for lunch?
Besides rootbeer, cola, & fruit punch?
Is there no vegan chefs left?
Not enough vegan restaurants here.
Nothing close by or near.
To become extinct is something I fear.
Too many taverns with beer.
Vegan establishments this town & city needs to build.
In malls & shopping centers to be filled.
Vegans don't know where to look.
I want to write & publish a poetry book.
"Innocence Unattended" is my best work.
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 12:46 PM UTC