"memorandum" poems - Hello Poetry

And so as a man, a job, a cactus wearing a business suit sharing relations with the hydrant down the street. A ***** strapped to a baby carriage with plastic baggie cellphones yelling "run away now" to the grass at his feet. A man devoid of water, rather. These are the times A well, emptied. Rather death find waves of spilled milk and all the fat people, skinny. A dry mouth desert, kneeling In either breath of a living feeling or the one that talks of so much for only the wealth of his screaming. Some tiny furniture talked all night about running through wheat, ebbing and flowing against the end tables, then falling short as crumbling tree leaves. An ottoman as recycle bin holding stem from stem of watermelon children and vine-ripened acetaminophen. Some odd truth told the blowing wind that God does cartwheels with Lucifer at random. It then billowed out about his ***** underwear and holy fodder for memorandum. I would say a man, a vision, A little girl using a GPS to calculate the distance from the rest her teething. Instead, she found a funny barbeque ***** playing hog-tied pharmaceutical reps into neoprene mud-flapping pigeons. I would say the sinking plastic six-pack islands revealing trash limbs, sunken, honest, grim. Life, itself, must move in tandem to only fleeting geese. Though in plan, the artisan-picking fruit of word must be depicted. Live in sin and ignorance much like the breaking news walking on broken record. And so as a man; a fear. He looked down, staring at no one with bare feet and shaken, coconut flavored palm trees.

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Jan 28, 2013

Jan 28, 2013 at 4:27 PM UTC

will-j

A man is as often does.

And so as a man, a job, a cactus wearing a business suit sharing relations with the hydrant down the street. A ***** strapped to a baby carriage with plastic baggie cellphones yelling "run away now" to the grass at his feet. A man devoid of water, rather. These are the times A well, emptied. Rather death find waves of spilled milk and all the fat people, skinny. A dry mouth desert, kneeling In either breath of a living feeling or the one that talks of so much for only the wealth of his screaming. Some tiny furniture talked all night about running through wheat, ebbing and flowing against the end tables, then falling short as crumbling tree leaves. An ottoman as recycle bin holding stem from stem of watermelon children and vine-ripened acetaminophen. Some odd truth told the blowing wind that God does cartwheels with Lucifer at random. It then billowed out about his ***** underwear and holy fodder for memorandum. I would say a man, a vision, A little girl using a GPS to calculate the distance from the rest her teething. Instead, she found a funny barbeque ***** playing hog-tied pharmaceutical reps into neoprene mud-flapping pigeons. I would say the sinking plastic six-pack islands revealing trash limbs, sunken, honest, grim. Life, itself, must move in tandem to only fleeting geese. Though in plan, the artisan-picking fruit of word must be depicted. Live in sin and ignorance much like the breaking news walking on broken record. And so as a man; a fear. He looked down, staring at no one with bare feet and shaken, coconut flavored palm trees.