"infirmaries" poems - Hello Poetry

you sowed this **** into my brain... why do you even "think" that i want... you? i, want your children... the meme-mutation is what i'm after... and there are plenty of useful idiots to allow me to process the intermediating processes for: the sigma, "accomplishment"; which is unlike what infected mushroom's - trance party track sounds like, outside of my own head. why do these people even think i'm after their genes of memes? i want, their infantile replicas... i want to craft a worthwhile curiosity, on a canvas, that that they call their gene replicas, children, and... like why called me... easy meat.. einfachfleisch... what? i'm not here for these news' anchors... i'm here for their children... nibble nibble nibble chew chow cow tow and main... prawn crackers... ah... news anchors are easy targets... slightly pointless 20x bulls eye honing devices... it's their children... i want their children... i want their cognition to become replica of wheelchair bound infirmaries; why? oh... you know... football and wrestling, given the Qatar investment plan... the whole sport "thing" became a tad bit boring... had to resort to secondary sources of entertainment; children of news anchors? the secondary, "last", albeit, the best resort; schindler... required a list, to become reincarnated... and revive a **** a heartlessness of an reincarnation anomaly: i.e.: what, a limited number of people, to begin with?! so the rest is primitive "a.i."? now i'm starting to think... thank the blue indians for their culinary innovations... but when it comes to their theology? **** 'em; did i advocate that? if i did... within what pronoun guarantee of advocacy? playing the grammar card... which pronoun? the plural singular, or the singular plural, or the gender neutral? thank you jean-paul sartre, for the... "i"... i simply love, this revised concept of a unit... the revision clinging to the royalist affirmation of pronouns... i.e. 1 would say... so... and 1... would, so, will, do so. **** the pronoun debate in Canadian politics... if i have to resort to this? then i will... like your plain citizen... may "i" speak within the confines, of the royal, one, given the example: one might suppose... to be the former, and the current, highest, etiquette? gender neutrality of pronouns... last time i checked... one was never allowed pronoun stature... why not address this conundrum, to begin with?! oh, right... too late... too many loud mouths without a guillotine... so, basically, a cow fart's worth of argumentation.

0

Aug 2, 2018

Aug 2, 2018 at 11:51 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

I non Q

you sowed this **** into my brain... why do you even "think" that i want... you? i, want your children... the meme-mutation is what i'm after... and there are plenty of useful idiots to allow me to process the intermediating processes for: the sigma, "accomplishment"; which is unlike what infected mushroom's - trance party track sounds like, outside of my own head. why do these people even think i'm after their genes of memes? i want, their infantile replicas... i want to craft a worthwhile curiosity, on a canvas, that that they call their gene replicas, children, and... like why called me... easy meat.. einfachfleisch... what? i'm not here for these news' anchors... i'm here for their children... nibble nibble nibble chew chow cow tow and main... prawn crackers... ah... news anchors are easy targets... slightly pointless 20x bulls eye honing devices... it's their children... i want their children... i want their cognition to become replica of wheelchair bound infirmaries; why? oh... you know... football and wrestling, given the Qatar investment plan... the whole sport "thing" became a tad bit boring... had to resort to secondary sources of entertainment; children of news anchors? the secondary, "last", albeit, the best resort; schindler... required a list, to become reincarnated... and revive a **** a heartlessness of an reincarnation anomaly: i.e.: what, a limited number of people, to begin with?! so the rest is primitive "a.i."? now i'm starting to think... thank the blue indians for their culinary innovations... but when it comes to their theology? **** 'em; did i advocate that? if i did... within what pronoun guarantee of advocacy? playing the grammar card... which pronoun? the plural singular, or the singular plural, or the gender neutral? thank you jean-paul sartre, for the... "i"... i simply love, this revised concept of a unit... the revision clinging to the royalist affirmation of pronouns... i.e. 1 would say... so... and 1... would, so, will, do so. **** the pronoun debate in Canadian politics... if i have to resort to this? then i will... like your plain citizen... may "i" speak within the confines, of the royal, one, given the example: one might suppose... to be the former, and the current, highest, etiquette? gender neutrality of pronouns... last time i checked... one was never allowed pronoun stature... why not address this conundrum, to begin with?! oh, right... too late... too many loud mouths without a guillotine... so, basically, a cow fart's worth of argumentation.

105

In this life, I have seen the valley of broken dreams filled with the souls of taqueria entrepreneurs. I have seen gleaming grills, Hispanic frills, greasy thrills. I have seen spirit thrive in the eyes of men armed with bank loans and family recipes. I have eaten their food, delicious beyond necessity. I have experienced the magic of taquerias and restaurants. And I have seen that magic die. I've observed the life unfold, unfurl with a magic to behold. I have seen that magic served in a half-empty restaurant that Frontera has outsold. I have had the magic gone, replaced by payday lenders and takeout from Taiwan. I have seen empty storefronts and the straggling last days of taqueria entrepreneurs. And I grieve every time at the lost loans and lost hopes left behind. But tonight, there will be no grieving. Instead, Let us eat magic in their memory, enjoy the grease that will surely send us to infirmaries. Let us celebrate the time they had, the tortas, tamales, and leftovers taken home in a bag. Let us celebrate the doomed Mexican restaurants.

0

Dec 4, 2015

Dec 4, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC

mjmomo

Taqueria Entrepreneurs

In this life, I have seen the valley of broken dreams filled with the souls of taqueria entrepreneurs. I have seen gleaming grills, Hispanic frills, greasy thrills. I have seen spirit thrive in the eyes of men armed with bank loans and family recipes. I have eaten their food, delicious beyond necessity. I have experienced the magic of taquerias and restaurants. And I have seen that magic die. I've observed the life unfold, unfurl with a magic to behold. I have seen that magic served in a half-empty restaurant that Frontera has outsold. I have had the magic gone, replaced by payday lenders and takeout from Taiwan. I have seen empty storefronts and the straggling last days of taqueria entrepreneurs. And I grieve every time at the lost loans and lost hopes left behind. But tonight, there will be no grieving. Instead, Let us eat magic in their memory, enjoy the grease that will surely send us to infirmaries. Let us celebrate the time they had, the tortas, tamales, and leftovers taken home in a bag. Let us celebrate the doomed Mexican restaurants.

4

I wrestled with God and I won, Victory now marked by a limp. I shuffle through life. My infirmaries the people's jest. Yet I know- The roles She willfully exhanged. She looks above from my footstool. She does not grovel, She is no sore loser. She knew Her opponent. She knew the game She designed- The rules She made for man. She stepped down to contend in my arena. She shook my hand, the Referee set aside, She raised my arm. At last, Atlas rises... And Creator and Sabbath are one.

0

Sep 27, 2019

Sep 27, 2019 at 5:08 AM UTC

the-sane-saloon

He broke my hip

I wrestled with God and I won, Victory now marked by a limp. I shuffle through life. My infirmaries the people's jest. Yet I know- The roles She willfully exhanged. She looks above from my footstool. She does not grovel, She is no sore loser. She knew Her opponent. She knew the game She designed- The rules She made for man. She stepped down to contend in my arena. She shook my hand, the Referee set aside, She raised my arm. At last, Atlas rises... And Creator and Sabbath are one.

19