"obelisks" poems
A star of blood you fell
from the point of the hypodermic
singing of fabulous beasts &
spitting out the *** of vowels
Your poems explode in the mouth
like torrents of ***** on a night
full of zebras & bootheels
Your ghost still cruses the river-
fronts of midnight assignations
in a world of dead sailors carrying
armfuls of flowers in search of
your unmarked grave
Your body no sanctuary for bees,
Death was your lover in a rain of
broken obelisks & rotting orchids
In the tangled rose of a single heartbeat
I offer you the shadow of a double
profile,
two heads held together at the bridge
of the nose by a nail of *****
smoke
in the long night's dreaming
& memory of water poured between
glasses
In my mailbox I find a letter from
a dead man & know that for every
shadow given
one is taken away
Yet subtraction is only a special form of
addition and implies a world of hidden
intentions below a horizon of lips
thin as your fingernail sprouting
mysteries in the earth …
The ace of spades dealt from the bottom
of the deck severs the hand which
retrieves it & the eyes of Beauty
sewn together peer over a black lace fan
in the ****** sunlight of a Spanish
morning without horses
The Belt of Orion is loosened
before you as you remove the silver
fingerstalls from your mummy hands &
kneel to plunder the nightsky in a shower of
bitter diamonds.
(Somewhere under a blanket someone weeps
for a lover.)
Peace to your soul
& to your empty shoes
in the dark closets of
kings with no feet!!!
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 4:06 PM UTC
Russian black grass and an ornate pattere garden,
pheasants basking in uncertainty
culpable designs eyeing towards.
Yellow book inclusion,
asks more than the obelisks shadows casting down the acers,
the mia crocus still a red mist
before laying the asphalt driveway.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 5:23 PM UTC
Singing on the roof tops
dancing with the owls
preying on the ocean
wandering through the comets
soul by soul we devoured
plagiarising every thought
typhoons and their memories
pummelling every heartbeat
Choppy moments
And finding secrets
Blending on the side walks
chasing the tail of Mars
leaping from the aether
coughing up the stars
rain of rain we let roar
sipping every shadow
deserts and their reveries
pummelling every heartbeat
Colder summers
And clearing skies
Poems on the sunset
obelisks on the edge
triremes in the universe
clocks in our heads
hell by hell we traversed
loving every essence
clusters and their eulogies
pummelling every heartbeat
Changing meadows
And healing wakes
We watched the cows graze.
Sep 1, 2012
Sep 1, 2012 at 11:11 AM UTC
Gray mountain concrete
elephant underpass
groans on six foot wide
legs
bones of steel
re-bar bend and break
As it all begins to crumble
in the cold November sun
Leviathan highways
strangle the hills
with cold grip- They
spill steel and smoke
blood on the city streets
Delivering poison
to your door
Robot brain control center
Oversees the operation
from tall towers
geometric shapes
Obelisks & Skyscrapers
Father Culture thinks with
his ****
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 5:01 PM UTC
They walk aloof among us
Three percent of the population
They reluctantly dine with us
Quietly, stifling their frustration
They don't look back as you pass
They don't want your conversation
Empathy is just an alien concept
They focus only on self preservation
But here's where it gets strange
We worship them with huge salaries
We beg them to lead us the way
We ignore their blatant deceptiveness
We hand them our hard earned pay
If they say bail out the banksters
Or send your kids to a dubious war
We offer them our kids and cash
Knowing that they will ask for more
Stranger still
Our history has been sculpted by them
We raise bronze statues proudly in their honor
Through our plain idleness and cowardice
They can reduce this planet to a nuclear goner
"How did this madness occur?" We question
Why do psychos run banks and governments
Checking world history offers a suggestion
To why we (the population) are slaves for rent
We are simply afraid of those
That successfully navigate life
With reckless irresponsibility
Unchallenged by others strife
It is those destructive characters
We plead to take political risks
In return for obedience and cash
To buy more power and obelisks
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 3:04 PM UTC
One autumn day in Providence
I opened up a door,
And entered into a stuffy room
Called "Edgar's Nevermore",
A curio shop with things forbidden,
And things bizarre and perverse,
And obelisks of ancient books
Occult, arcane, and diverse.
I poked around the pint-sized potions,
Inspected a petrified eft,
But made no purchase; and empty handed
The merchant's lair I left.
Returning home, to my surprise,
Like one who'd broken the law,
I found I'd taken a good unpaid for:
A little monkey's paw.
It tightly gripped, with fingers curled,
A flap of baggy sleeve;
And there it stayed, upon my jacket,
When I hung it up at eve.
For many days it didn't move,
And seemed the perfect pet;
But never trust a monkey's paw,
Or this is what you'll get:
I went to bed a drunken evening,
And slept as though I were dead;
And I didn't hear the monkey's paw
As it crept beside my bed,
The monkey's paw that had bided its time,
And waited, still as could be,
To choose this night to strangle it—
My voodoo doll of me!
(Why did I have a voodoo doll
Of me, you ask? Well, I...
Well, let's just say...well...I can't tell you...
I'd blush to tell you why...)
I awoke (with bleary, blurry vision)
To the monkey-fisted grip,
Then died without a single curse
To swear upon my lip.
And in my town I'm still remembered
As that quintessential loner
Who died alone with a mangled throat,
A creepy doll...and a *****
O.O
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
I hunt antelope in human hordes.
I haul three brooms on one shoulder.
I don't clean up.
I dance with specters and minuscule magenta men.
I am the precocious girl in fuchsia heels and charcoal dress.
I am the humble man with stark white tails.
I pull drops of food from the ether.
I pinch seeds from flower's eyes.
I touch like feathers and embrace like mountains.
I take leave when I want to.
I am the shaggy oak watching his youth flash past.
I am the alabaster orb and the effervescent waves.
I eat the wind with a dash of cinnamon.
I exude thunderstorms from every pore.
I sleep with stingrays and the smell of wet hay.
I spend blood-soaked bills without a second thought.
I am the sinless murderer.
I am the woman with eyes that mend bones.
I fly with eagles in the cerulean.
I fight Irish brawlers with my eyes closed.
I capture hearts in nets of lavender and silk.
I climb towering opal obelisks.
I am the painter's muse and the singer's breath.
I am the hoary frost on ancient limbs.
May 12, 2010
May 12, 2010 at 11:07 AM UTC
A personable person propogated passion
Beneath my heavy heart
Alas, cried the caterpillar
You are not dead!
Though I have spent hours molesting your windowsill
Rapeseed!
Huckleberry!
Gingerbread Pie!
All these things and more have I maliciously misunderstood
But the lies of the soothsayer are frequently true
They are passionate pomegranates from me to you
The obelisks of oppression overpower your heartstrings
And there's nothing you can do
My villain!
My thief!
The princess of my misery!
The fiery orb and the blasphemous pirates!
Staring at your shoulders I see only my reflection
Turning on your heel my eyelids sparkle and linger at your doorstep
It's Goliath's head
Salmon and bread
Those deathly ideas which you purposely said
Tic tac guru
Just what is he to you?
And which of my words have you read?
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 6:24 PM UTC
It's 11:11 make a wish
Look out the spotty window
See all the frowns
And boring towns
See how powerful the words we use are
They can cut deep
Deeper than the most violent assault
Buildings and obelisks of befuddlement
Pressed for time
Lemon scented tiles
Scrubbed
No mold
Personal preference
Common courtesy
And common sense
Scarce but invaluable
A face only a mother could love
And a father can lie to
Coulda
Woulda
Shoulda
Didn't
Searching for carrion
Give way
To the wayside
ECNALUBMA
In the rear view
The worms eat us
The early birds catch the worms
The cat nabs the worm
After being resurrected by satisfaction
And the night owl writes the tell-all
Put the ear to glass
Put the glass to the door
And listen closely
To sound of knuckles cracking
And the chattering of coffee shop patrons
Indian givers going back on their word
Fingerless gloves
Prim and proper
Promptly pummeling
Tunneling to tomorrow
Well done
Slim to none
Fat chance
The local native's tongue
Sold fresh and farm raised
On any given day
You can find demi-gods
Playing a a pick up game
Matchbook
Matchbox
Mismatch socks
Pick up sticks and stretchmarks
Just stay the night
So we can wish this all away together
It's 11:12 open your eyes
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 1:22 PM UTC
Begins foot tall grip-
mountain brain to it
of and tall his shapes
crumble in poison operation
from bend and strangle
mountain to bones
strangle and operation
from **** foot underpass groans
begins
They smoke wide legs city and tall the streets
Delivering the cold grip-
and bend
crumble in of his tall bones
the foot with on blood
blood highways and
all of concrete smoke
They with on center
Oversees poison
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 2:43 PM UTC
I was there before the beginning
Before the conception of time and space,
when nothing was everything
and everything was nothing.
In vain I waited for you to materialize
from the ether of emptiness
But you never came.
So there I stood, waiting...
I was there at the beginning
At the conception of time and space
when everthing came from nothing.
I saw the sun, or that condescent
swirling cloud of dust that was
to be the sun.
I saw the earth, a miniscule ball
of molten, boiling, writhing anger
I was there when everything, but
you emerged from nothing.
So there I stood, waiting...
I was there at the edge of an
undulating mass of the pimordial ooze,
that sea of everything and nothing.
I saw pleaseasaur ribbon its long,
shiny, black body through the fathomless
depths of the sea
Searching, as was I, for something.
I saw stegasaur, that lumbering
hulk of muscle and scale
take its first precarious
steps onto land
looking, as was I, for something.
Every creature, but one-the one
I wanted, stepped forth
from that roiling soup.
But you never came.
So there I stood, waiting...
I was there when neanderthal
first discovered fire.
I saw that temptress dance
across the contours of his rough,
wind hewn face.
I saw his eyes sparkle as
he and I gazed longingly
into the yellow, red dancer's lair.
Both searching for something
or someone.
I stared and stared hoping
to catch the slightest glimmer
of your eyes.
But you never came.
so there I stood, waiting...
I was there when Egypt and Rome
first peeped their heads
from the cold ground surrounding their feet.
I was there as those stone goliaths, pyramids,
grew block by block
layer by layer
stretching, reaching, longing for heaven's basement.
Just as I longed for you.
I saw Rome's aquaducts,
seemingly endless terracota snakes,
slicing through the eons
blindly feeling for something.
Just as I searched for you
hoping you were searching for me.
But you never came.
So there I stood, waiting...
I was there when we almost killed
the human race, for the second time.
I stood at the entrance to Auschwitz
scanning the multitude of
worn, sullen,destitute face
hoping, praying you weren't there.
Thank God you weren't there.
So there I stood, waiting...
I am here.
In a cold place made of lifeless,
emotionless steal and glass.
I watched as heartless obelisks
devoured the cozy bricks of ancient
neighborhoods. Signaling the undaunted
march of father time.
His harried pace, defies his antiquated frame,
drains my fortitude.
but step for step
night and day
day in and day out
I will wait for you.
So here I stand, waiting...
Oct 19, 2011
Oct 19, 2011 at 4:20 PM UTC
2 am
Land,
luggage,
end reality.
Bad weather means
delayed flight,
glued in tonight
still, adventure
beckons
from glass pane
separating
airport
and
New York City;
Our escape.
5 hours till next flight.
Sheer immensity
of silver obelisks,
so cleanly cut
edges like razorblades,
have grasped our curiosity,
slicing binding adhesive
of bad weather,
anchoring our release
into the cold mist.
We wander beyond
our time limit.
Bright,
despite night.
City never sleeps,
still peaceful
on the other side of day.
Making way
street by street,
exploring what we can
while we can.
The amount of exploring
one gets done
with a time limit.
4 hours
Alleyways,
streets, parallel
zigzag back and forth
up and down.
Some lit,
others
bleeding darkness,
over pouring
with lost souls.
With a clouded sense
of direction,
one tends to find lost
at every corner.
3 hours
Like bugs at night,
we stick to the light.
We strive to make it back
before our time is up.
Nervousness settles in
as sight seeing
becomes partial.
New objective,
return to airport.
Mental maps being yelled
back and forth.
Still nobody knows
which is right.
2 hours left.
Familiar street
or frame of block,
memory shoots through mind
like lightning arcing through the sky
providing the route back
to salvation.
The Scarlet Speedster
known as The Flash
has never known speed
comparable to
my brothers and I
nervously rushing
back to JFK.
With our last hour
we check in our baggage
and board our plane.
Though not our destination,
it would be pointless to pass up
the late night delicacies
of New York City.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 11:21 PM UTC
Upon the hilltop
Far over the golden horizon
Where the sun peeks out
From behind the blue crystals
Lining the cloudless sky,
There sit gray
Obelisks, towers of fractured stone
And gleaming silver flowers
That chant the distant melodies
Of those who lay below the grass.
The obelisks line in circles
And weep silently for what age
Has brought upon their faces;
Moss and cracks, dirt upon bouquets,
Names weathered down to pebbles
Vast plains of unturned soil.
At nightfall, winds break
Upon the hilltop's gates
And send forth siren calls
That plead for silent harmonies
Somewhere deep underground,
Below the grasses, below the tombstones
That rise and fall like waves
That sit silent, immobile,
As time strikes its silver chisel
Upon the forgotten markers of those
Who have been locked
Inside its ticking crypt.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 8:33 PM UTC
The debate is on
I want to perform
but first I must
humidify my guitar
Ate dinner
now there's a lump in my throat
so I'm gonna sit here
drinking tea 'till I feel
paradoxically soothed and energized
hamburger and homefries
the summer dish
perfect for outside
but here I sit in my A/C winterland
conditioning myself for hats and gloves
The water's warming and rising
the mosquito larvae have won
Itching in Yellow Fever delirium
These grassy hollows
were once a worthwhile place
The new wonders are now
grotesque animistic anomalies
Today, face-to-face with rabid rabbits
Tomorrow, the white light angels
with hyper beam cleansing
they could no longer bear to watch
from porcelain obelisks
the human media screen
of indoor inexploration
fail to hide the sins
from the scale holding counters
Justice, the lucky one
with bandanna over eyes
still heard the profit wrenching semantics
get drowned out from screaming harpies
Responsible gods stopped their foray
in fear humans will survive
Dark matter engulfs all
in fear humans will survive
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 1:11 AM UTC
I'm a tool pondering skyscapes.
Fondling a memory
Left behind
On sunset marquees.
It raced into the horizon like
A toad on the road.
A neon dream waving farewell.
Exploring mindsets:
An act in caressing
Bloodbath tesseracts.
A roundhouse rollercoaster,
Spinning at velocity of perfume
Hitting nasal perforations.
Core memories surface along spine cutlets,
No longer intrinsic
Doubt.
I'm settling for more.
Time is a moment
Too long to endure.
Hindsight is
A parson's lake passage;
A mad monster yet to be tamed;
A grain of salt to a fresh wound made;
Moments of grace from a fake great ape.
Blue morons slide
Into Mormon jovial footsteps.
Derided ice forestry into
King's cloaked ancestry.
A sad fisherman sailing
Ceaselessly out to sea.
And yet here I am
Talking to you,
Eyelight through obelisks
In hotbox barricades.
Hiding behind
A past of newspapers.
Headline reads 'ONLY DEVINE'
'TRADE REIGN WARNS JEWELS'
'PRINCE THREATENS ECONOMY
... AND CROWN.'
Wipe the frown,
Draw the sword.
Don't be ignored anymore.
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 5:17 PM UTC
when i cordoned you off
with Gorilla Tape and lilac vine
once i was done attaching encrypted files
of pearls upon that sultry salt of your inner-thighs
once i’d borrowed bonds
off my favorite banker’s portfolio
so i could waste myself in their earned interest
ratios
of blood bourne by centuries of
hapless gathering oppression
so i could use them in mosaics of swollen sand
that i could lay
like sea-glass shards under your
ebbing feet as useless parchments
i swallowed you in all your swollen spasms of fragile oblivion
until that bottom of this tongue lept amidst surfacing juices
obliterating and obligating all that ever decayed amidst obelisks
your whispers
(hatched from your
breathy endorphins)
shook me into
mine own
desperate shudders
astride our gathering humidity
and i gathered in
your needle-nosed
plier
eyes
-rust encrusted grey
incisors-
wrought from melted andirons
mixed with slug
trodden
soils
of hinterlands i was
never
to penetrate
as if i ever slammed
you
with yore spinning flails
into night’s emerging chasm
of charcoal sprinkled
with inner-orange peels
and their attempts toward
all that is illuminating, wistful, brief, and
precious—
i am your son, i am birthed from your sal i vations. i am twisting, still, amidst these rudiments of brine...
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 2:20 AM UTC
The endless sands bulging over and breaking
in undulating form
shifting in the winds language of low wolf whistles
and sensual whispers
stretches as far as the minds elasticity
into a sheltered cove where sits,
a desert prophet dreaming of strange rituals
in the mirage of waters and wastelands.
Come time and temperament he will rise
in the chill night to gaze upon the stars
moving within the spangled galaxies
between The Milky Way and Cassopeia,Andromeda,
with Sirius suns rising in a another world
where secrets lay buried in the papyrus
of ancient astrologers who understood
how the earth was born and
other peoples left their mark
for a discovery of millennium future.
The prophet was here once.
Twelve feet tall and striding
between giant obelisks and pyramids
walking oceans, crossing land bridges
and land masses escorting
his forbears to seed the earth.
"I will return in time
ten thousand years after the Aztecs
Machu Pichu, Indus and Empires
built on carved gods and seven headed hydra,
to rule again unquestioned, as before. Think.
Till then -leave what I have left behind
for you to caretake. Stay still. Understand.
Author Notes
Return?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
In a while,
in a second
and rain is pouring down.
One expectation like an Alpine horn
and you hardly,
hardly
are alive.
With your little hollows you're listening
to the Labyrinth.
And I have no knowledge.
And I have no map.
But the long movement of moss on the skin
of obelisks.
The calm waters are unleashing into me
and the chestnuts are putting white candles on
(and the autumn is a palm).
Wings, raising
upwards and
upwards...
I'm calling you by name.
The original:
Викам те по име
След миг,
след секунда
и руква дъжд.
Едно очакване като алпииски рог
и ти едва,
едва
си жив.
Със шепите си малки слушаш
Лабиринта.
И нямам знание.
И нямам карта.
А дългото движение на мъх по кожата
на обелиски.
Спокойните води изливат се във мен
и кестените се обличат в бели свещи
( и есента е длан.
Криле, издигащи се
все нагоре,
все нагоре…
И викам те по име.
Translator Bulgarian-English: Vessislava Savova
rarebird
© bogpan - all rights reserved.
Dec 15, 2010
Dec 15, 2010 at 5:50 AM UTC
I wish I could erase the moments before this
I wish I could be born again
My mind no longer tainted
My bare feet upon the dirt covered wooden floor
As I gaze out into the thick warm jungle
The fog of morning hangs
I would dream perfectly as they
Nightmares would entail
Yellow jungle cat eyes
watching from the shadow
Dreams of a beautiful girl bathing in the river
We are God's do you know this?
We all came from the same river
All of us float in the same pool of algae
Instinct
Some push away while others attract
Until we all become one
The eternal circle
At death the great being Stands
His left foot in a vast green sea
Great and wonderful creatures Swim in it's depths
They seem to sing as they swim
His right foot rests upon a great desert
Pyramids and obelisks rise up from the hot planes
Snakes with scales shining as a rainbow living streams of diamonds
That dance across the dunes
Out of his mouth
flows a great river
Time flows from it
Eternally onward it flows after me
As it has flowed for the eternity before me
The great being speaks to me in a voice like thunder
It's words move my bones
I put my finger into the cool water
I know the place of my consciousness
Among the raging seas Time
I will be born again
At the moment of my death
The leaf-the bird-the cicada
all beings singing the endless song of life
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 1:02 AM UTC
She was
not old enough
to have graduated
high school,
nor aware enough to
notice
how many eyes were on her,
sympathetic or
disdainful or
hungry,
as she struggled to push a cart full of
pull-ups
and cleaning supplies
in a cart with a broken wheel
through the warm and somniferous glow
of ill-maintained streetlights,
those obelisks of granite.
Don't call it
pity,
but
something
stirred my gut,
and burned my eyes,
as she trudged past me,
pushing a cartload of motherhood,
trailing a warm autumn breeze,
an aromatic telegram;
lilac and lavender,
a diffident bouquet,
accented by spritely vanilla,
withering before bleach-fumes
and mordant disinfectant.
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 7:16 PM UTC
A flower blossoms in the desert
on a cactus where there's no one to see it.
The beauty mark upon the oasis.
Candlelight in the darkness, lit
outstretched hands hold reminders
puzzle pieces with no remainders;
a ghost alone without pension.
Obelisks withstand the seasons
of a troubled, turbulent heart
resistant to the call of reason
as gravitation pulls us apart.
The talisman will guard the flower
from its persistent self-destruction.
Even though it has no power,
Its psychosomatic, deep within.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC
Seven stone obelisks
Seven stone walls
cover the valley floor
in silver and sapphire
Monoliths
Sentinels
watching and
absorbing
Things live
and things grow
while They stand
unwavering
Every year
the valley floods
and They disappear
beneath the lake
And every year
They emerge
from their slumber;
Their deep thoughts
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 1:58 PM UTC
I carry this pit
With me everyday
Sometimes it's in my
Stomach
My back
My neck
The bottoms of
My feet
The back of my
Mind
It never goes
Away
It just moves
It seems to grow
Barbs when my
Thoughts shift
To it
As they usually
Do seemingly
Out of nowhere
Sometimes early
In the morning
Or late at night
Depending on how
You look at things
I can feel the pit
In mid transit
Looking for the
Discarded trash and
Snapped twigs of
A new nest
A new perch to
Take up residence
There is no point
To the pit
It is absurd
Because it exists
It is the
Materialization
Of all the
Rejected submissions
Sideways glances
Passing snickers
Passive aggressive emails
Shelves of unread books
Dust bunnies in the corner
Creaking of floor boards
Board meetings
Clenching of teeth behind
Closed lips
The fading din of a
Conversation as you
Enter the room
Obelisks of junk mail
That choke the
Arteries of the earth
Lies that canoe through
Your teeth into
The sea of
Pointless small talk
Time
A peach rotting
In a ceramic bowl
In a watercolor kitchen
Until the only thing left
Is the pit
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 6:33 PM UTC
It was humanity that was the mixed bag of jelly beans at summer camp that spilled out into the scorching sun restless for *** and sun-tans.
All before they melted away into Kandinsky paintings pretending that happiness was something of a virtue.
And while the paintings ignited into a righteous firestorm of white men in white robes with hope and faith, flying out the church doors and taking to the sky, morphing into airplanes to destroy the great peace in the form of two obelisks pointing to Allah.
To the american hypocrisy that we drink like cough syrup to cure nothing.
While pretending everything was alright.
While dead men are worshiped more than a word of the past that is the future.
Let us forget about innovation.
Let us look back onto the great circles of cycles that we overturn on the great history
of the 4th of July flagpoles that I grasp, feeling the pulse of the blood-filled stripes.
Let us look to the cold-blooded blue square that we plant ourselves on as stars, making our marks in this smooth and creamy void.
Let us walk into the white absences were color is uninhabitable to the Negroes or the Latinos who used all of their angry fixes in activism and cigarettes that burn holes through eternity.
To the Chinese who were thrown out of our stars like mutts in order for our stars to shine the plastic glow that stays illuminated in the lights of Chick-fil-A that sells homosexuals with a side of Leviticus.
Taking, taking, taking to the past and somehow justifying death to natives, then scalping the land as some sort of victory of great imperialism that still hangs to our hearts like a collective tumor.
But I have been kind, I have been free.
To the breath of foreigners breaking the normality that is conformity.
Let me scare you with your greatest fear which is locked away in gravestones and darkness.
Locked away in Kerouac, Whitman and Ginsberg
For that which is change.
I speak directly to the inner gashes that are your soul.
Change before the fireworks turn into mutually assured destruction.
And you won’t.
Change before the feminists shoot me with their trigger warnings.
And you won’t.
Change before the immigrants last breath murmurs **** dreams”.
And you won’t.
I am America and my flag is paper, white paper.
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 10:48 PM UTC