"plopped" poems
They've been working on this for years
Inside the government
To try a replace the brain of man
With that of a purple eggplant
This idea to me sounds genius
If you know what it is that I mean
People round here might start making sense
Pass the veggies if you please
They called all the top notched scientists
And vegetarians throughout the land
To see what would be the best variety
In this eggplant transplant experiment
They settled on the aubergine
Great Brittan's joy and pride
When it comes to the perfect eggplant
Those Limey's will not be denied
They were afraid if they went to the private sector
That person would surely be missed
So they grabbed someone unsuspecting
Inside of the government
They told the low level employee
A bit of truth mixed with a little white lie
They needed him for his vast understanding and knowledge
Plus they'd be serving cookies on the side
They added a little something to the cookie dough
That knocked the governmental genius to his knees
Plopped him down on the gurney
...Let the experiment proceed if you please
They cracked his skull wide open
Where upon they couldn't believe their eyes
Right there inside of his cranium
Already an eggplant did reside
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC
how have you been?
we never talk anymore
god knows I was stupid enough that
afternoon to give up on frisbee and
throw it all away in a few words plopped at your
feet in the grass and sun
and I do regret it, but
there's nothing to be done
to remedy the situation now
I just remember the texting marathons at
two in the morning with phones
plugged into walls because our
batteries couldn't keep pace with our
excitement
I remember Bo and Jenny, your matching dogs
Bo was always the chill one, probably still is
and I remember convincing you, making sure
you knew drugs were never the answer to loneliness
and now it has all
been thrown away for so long
and you've embraced what you will
I only wish I could take it back
Jan 25, 2012
Jan 25, 2012 at 12:33 AM UTC
On opposite sides of a telephone line
Signals from satellites bounce between
The waves of silence that are plopped uneasily
Within our absent minded conversation
I breathe, hoping it is not too loud
A sigh, a release from this purgatory
But any microscopic sound or respiratory
Inspires him to question me
"What are you doing?" he asked halfheartedly
While I lay and watch my wall paint crack
As minutes tick by, sigh after sigh
Of not knowing which words to utter
So I break the silence finally
With a insincere and restless goodnight
Because this is how you end a fight
But I still hung on to silence until the line died
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 11:35 PM UTC
Blink Blink...Where did it go?
The Time?
The Moment flies when we lack the material in which to fill it.
Empty spaces...A Lack of Bravery? To come forth with some creative
Self Fulfillment?
The wic must be lit in order to speed the rocket to blast...
The Rocket shoots the message, in our works, if we fill the right
Creative Powders to Blast from within it.
Can you blame another soul?
If you fail when you never stepped a foot forward and tried?
Through fear you sat in front of the TV with some "Kentucky Fried."
As your friends shake their heads and watched as you sat there and died.
Moments shall take from us just as they can add...
Parts to us if we never add them...The pieces to the puzzle...
That are lost are never placed in
The picture that was our life.
As we allowed ourselves to fade to sin.
The choices were clear as we made them.
Even with a huge sign to point the way, we ignored that still.
So, who's was that weak will?
Fear can never conquer or control us unless we give into it.
So jump up and rejoice as you regain bravery
and "get with it!"
A mind sparks to flame...Lights the powder of the rocket from where the true creativity came.
Not copies of a copy of an already thought up creation. No.
It was the fresh slice of the pie that earned us another penny.
Placed in the jar that is our thirst for "winning."
One,two,until it adds to A Million or more.
Due to our bravery....Our wills are free to score.
Now the moment arrives again. Where doubt weighs you down.
In front of the TV is where you are now seated
with that Bucket of "Kentucky Fried."
What is the path you seek to take?
That's it!
Off the couch, you turned off the Television.
Plopped down the delicious fatty, and dream-killing snacks..
to the void...you are not headed.
You are now,braver. You put one foot in front of the other.
Now you are still winning my "Creative Brother."
Now you have the life, the change, and the jar from which it came.
For each of the moments that you carefully used up in your life...
A penny was earned...
The celebration cake shall now be cut....
through the sharp blade..
of Success' Knife.
Where fear shall never,Freely
Roam Amuck.
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 7:00 PM UTC
There you were, with chocolate all over your fingers
And a huge grin plastered all over your face.
You plopped those truffles into your mouth
As if you were a starving child,
Eyes shining, like it was the first time you’d tasted food in weeks.
That night I heard you crying
And when I came into your periwinkle purple room
You had chocolate all down your cheeks
As if your tears weren’t made of salty water
But rather, salted caramels
Melting down your burning cheeks.
There you were, looking so small buried in your mountain of a duvet.
I hugged you, and squeezed you
Told you that if I could, I would serve you chocolate truffles for every meal
With chocolate milk to wash them down.
I asked you what was wrong
And you said you didn’t know.
And you still don’t know.
And still, when I sneak in to kiss your cheek
When the lights are dim and I think you’ve fallen asleep,
My lips meet chocolate tear drops,
And my heart sinks because never has anything so sweet
tasted so bitter.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
My body ached
I felt bruised
Stretched to the limits
I felt physically abused.
My insides were moved
To different locations
It felt unreal
It was a surreal sensation.
My back hurt
My bones shifted
I felt sick
The pain persisted.
I felt like being ripped
From the inside out
They watched and waited
As I continued to shout.
Oh! The pain!
Oh! The discomfort!
I lay there out of breath
As I pushed with all my effort.
One last great push
It will soon end
I screamed
I shouted
Then stillness
Silence fell
My head plopped back
I felt like I was under a spell.
The silence was broken
By a piercing wail
It sounded like an angel
And you were unveiled.
Nothing ached anymore
There you are
My little angel
My little shining star.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 2:44 AM UTC
I
My five-five-fingers of my hands
Zestfully lived In serenity.
The three thrill fingers of my right hand:
Thumb, index finger and middle finger
Stoutly lived civilly and gleefully
Amongst her BROTHERS:
They rested gleefully upon the placid,
SHARP-SABLE-POINTED-DART.
II
Sharp sable pointed-dart;
Perched in the midst of the three thrill fingers
And laid rest upon the hungry,
****** DUSKY-SHEET, which sprawled
Bear flat on the glossy desk.
The glossy desk accompanying the earth
The earth accompanying its depth.
III
The other two fingers of my right hand:
Ring finger and little finger
Calmly leisure, plopped on the hungry,
****** dusky-sheet
And lent ears to the Sharp-sable-pointed-dart,
Sharp-sable-pointed-dart,
Muttering vignettes of yesterday
Muttering vignettes of today
Muttering vegnettes of tomorrow.
Upon the glossy desk
My five fingers of my left hand too
Laid rest, and eyeballed the sharp-sable-pointed-dart,
Muttering deep thoughts.
IV
Look,
All you who waded through lines:
All you who unearth the heart
Of this earth, hunting for treasures
Pore over my ten fingers.
My ten fingers,
As pure as a full ****** moon.
I have dunked deep my five fingers
Of my right hand with my progenitors
In a bowl of sweet dishes
And nibbled singed YAMS amidst
The thriving vegetables.
V
But my forefinger of my left hand
Never been raised above
To curse the heavens
Never been raised up to pinpoint
My progenitors' homeland
Never had it tasted any depravity
And never will it be licked
Or bit by the savage butchers of Meat
Who loved to fatten themselves on ******
And gratified their heart with
Juicy cup of blood and gore.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 4:34 AM UTC
You are the star that pierces darkest night
When new moon doesn’t rise or shine her light.
You are the melody that knits night’s sweetest songs,
The resting place my lonely heart belongs.
You are the star. You are the star.
You are the juicy peach plopped in hunger’s outstretched hand.
From the ocean of my tears, you are the sight of land.
You are a mountain stream rushing through Death Valley’s thirst.
You are the biggest, fastest, slowest, best and worst.
The very end of ends, and always, Absolutely, the first.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 11:48 AM UTC
Lonely is the only emotion I feel, sitting on the counter
Plopped down, flicking guilt
Remanence on paper, I use to heal
I chose to be ill
I'm the unattached ****** desire
Conversation not required
Tormented love, consumed and killed
Around this pole, twisted and unthrilled
Patiently waiting on something
My tied up body feels nothing
Still insanity quenches the thrusting
When will we finally become ***** and musty
I can no longer conceal our secret, smiling
Annoyed with me, I'm done hiding
Tonight I'm not grieving
Deceived, here is your rope of control
I need to find the cover for my gaping hole
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 1:26 PM UTC
John and Eric
had gone to New Orleans
to get drunk,
so when they saw the girl
hanging over the railing
of the balcony
pulling her shirt
up and down
up and down,
they hurled beads at her
aiming for the top of her head
so that they'd
circle the drain of her neck
in a circling, shimmering starlet
down
her shoulders.
"Come down here," John yelled.
The girl pulled down her halter-top
one more time,
exposing two
globes of bouncing flesh.
Thinking he had said,
"Pull them down."
It was so loud and everyone was whistling
and there wasn't just a single color of light;
the aura from the club
was a nebula of parti-colored flashing.
later that night
she did come down.
She bumped in between John and Eric
as they navigated her through the crowd
trying their hardest to keep her
from falling over and puking,
while trying to do the same
for themselves.
She hung to them like they were long singular beams of steel.
When she rolled her head around at them
she remembered that they looked
hard and unknown.
And while holding her
in the crooks of their arms,
they maneuvered the flesh in their jeans
with their free hands,
trying to subdue the worlds
rising out of their pants
like volcanoes.
They got her back to the hotel.
A small room
with a tiny old bed, with flower-print
comforters and
an antique dresser with swirling
sculptured wood at its corners.
John slipped off his black leather jacket
and shook his mop of
curly black hair.
Eric plopped onto the bed,
pulling her with him.
She felt him pull,
she felt the gravity of him;
the warp as she bumped against
the bed.
"You guys should come back next year."
"Maybe," Eric said.
She didn't know if she was here or not.
If she'd been here the whole night
or if she was dreaming.
But she felt something physical
on her body.
Eric sat in the corner--
beside the humming a/c
as it vacuumed out the room--
watching with lifeless eyes.
It moved across her stomach.
Slow and continuous.
It moved down to her
pelvis,
slow and continuous.
It reached inside of her
slow and continuous,
and she felt the vacuum of space.
John and Eric
tag-teamed her.
Eric
taking her mouth
and working it around his *****
saying
"Come on baby,
****
John pushing against her
his glowing body
making a slapping noise
as he struggled
with his hands under her stomach
making hard dimples of flesh
on her mid-section
as he tried to hold up
her limp body.
"She's out cold,"
he said.
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 10:50 AM UTC
We play with the past,
us gawkers
laugh out louders
and marry the fun. Or
purchase t-shirts to remember
The Thinker plopped upon a porcelain throne
Rodin in the bowl
a powerful internal struggle
philosophy flushed for comedic blue cleanser
carved beautifully
The Vitruvian Man in full windmill
Townshend style
over strings in sextuplicate with limbs to match.
Perfection at eight heads high and
these amps go to eleven
The Persistence of Memory in any variation
so long as we don't have to consult our own dreams
Or Dali's
We shake the dust from our
feet and smile, forgetting things like The Thinker
was originally named The Poet
because that's not funny
and we're cleverer (more clever?) cleverer than that
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 11:17 AM UTC
Spend less time...
Clinging onto whatif branches .
They’re frail & sapless.
When happiness breezes by, it can’t be contained in a bottle.
If you don’t understand the breeze,
you’ll climb desperately
tumbling from broken branches & broken spirits, only to be plopped where you started, but sorer.
Let go completely and fall, the wind will catch you,
toss you up and around
and gently set you down
on the dirt
Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 8:16 PM UTC
I smoked a pack while we unraveled white and black.
Wrapped in your bare sheets I slept best.
Dewey skin in the morning light,
candy tongue
tulip two lips.
Alarm goes off you ignore it.
I loved messing your hair up.
You look better that way.
I danced around naked on the pedestal you plopped me on
as I let you sketch me.
You scolded to stand still and slapped my *** when I didn't listen,
but you looked so cool holding your paintbrush in your teeth,
studying my figure,
peeking around the easel with your big eyes and crooked smile.
I always left with stains on my hands and your jacket
on my shoulders with a new Camel in the pocket.
Your hand slid down my jeans and I bit your lip.
I could have finished you.
You were so mean to me constantly,
and I curiously indulged in your temptations.
Your ecstasy whispers in my ear.
But there's something special about being loved
by someone who hates everyone.
You thought I was interesting.
Thought I was pure in my mini skirt, but tough
because I never cried when you were yelling.
I just yelled back.
Thought I was brave and wildly adventurous,
standing on edges and throwing things your way.
Even I thought it would be different this time.
But I should've probably listened
to you when you used to tell me not to get my hopes up.
That way I wouldn't be here,
praying, which I never do
that you didn't mean it and you didn't want me to ever have
to know
why you didn't come home.
You would rather
it be expected than me be disappointed
when it's the morning after and you're lying there restless
while you're passed out in the back of a van,
shoes off,
shirt hanging off your back,
with cuts from cans on your hands.
*** doesn't make a sound.
It's the loudest way to shut someone up.
It's the silence that cures.
It's the cork stop in a bottle,
but it will glimmer when you spin it upside down.
I'd love to smash it.
I came in that afternoon and burned the edges of your drawings with my lighter,
smeared the charcoal on all your new pages,
and stamped my boot until all your brushes were in half.
I picked up your jacket that I sewn a special patch in
with my initials,
and I hit snooze when your alarm went off.
You didn't move.
I watched the dewy skin of your back rise
and fall as you were breathing,
sheets ruffled,
pillows on the floor,
empty side next to yours,
all alone.
I decided you look better that way.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 12:36 AM UTC
P L O P P E D, PLOPPED YOUR FAT *** ON THE COUCH TO READ A BOOK THERES NO PROOF THAT YOU DIDNT HEAR ME. ITS YOUR FAULT ITS YOUR FAULT ITS YOUR FAULT YOURE SO STUPID YOU HAVE NO COMMON SENSE YOU FAT LAZY COW!
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 8:05 PM UTC
"This is the end, my friend…"
Take refuge in the Golden Years.
Retire to an inevitable monastery
plopped on a suburban mountaintop.
Immerse yourself in the lost writings
of Nikita Khrushchev and Harry S Truman.
Learn to cook gizzards and meditate.
Find solace in obsolete atomic weapons,
enlightenment in the raw, butchered
expressions of the naked thermonuclear.
Wangle, ****** fire, and maneuver.
Get in touch with your inner Eichmann.
Devour baskets of tasty deplorables.
Stop clinging to guns and religion.
Love the fascism of the ordinary.
Become content with mere content.
Stop waving daggers at the innocent.
Wash yourself in the blood of the lamb.
Accept that Woodstock was futile.
Admit you can’t get no satisfaction.
Penetrate the goddess of unreason,
and come screaming to your senses.
Declare the dawn of the Age of Onanism.
Keep your fingers out of Pandora's box.
Bid farewell to the ghost of Joe Hill.
Depart the smothering, smooth life
of lust, corn flakes, and competition.
Expand your mind in a mushroom cloud.
Travel upriver to the ****** of Darkness,
legendary source of honeyed generation.
Attain new heights of perfect despair.
Discover the latent bliss of cassowaries,
rooted in their strong disdain for kale.
Play poker with the spirits of the dead.
These are your days of lucky revelation.
Lick magic frogs and witness lost dreams.
Arrive at the perfect wisdom of what is.
Everything and nothing, just what it seems.
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 5:15 AM UTC
The car and I,
we made our way
into the downtown
portion of this Midwest
mini-metropolis.
The sun was out,
snow melting,
and it sounded a lot
like rain as everything,
everywhere
dripped and plopped
creating a slurry of
grey road juice
that hissed under
the tires as we
passed by.
At the intersection
nearest to my friend’s
shop,
there was a refrigerator
box that had been
tossed in the street.
It,
like most things,
was on its way
to disintegration.
The red letters
that were inked to
the sides of the box
had started to run,
making the box look
to be some kind
of suburban roadkill.
I wondered briefly,
as the next holiday
rounded the corner
if the contents of the box
might be a gift.
Or…
Maybe a:
********* The fridge is shot!”
kind of unexpected
expense.
Either way,
the car and I
had other destinations
to reach.
So, I let my thoughts
wander still
as the tires turned
underneath.
“What would it be like to climb the steel stairs
on the sides of those buildings nearest
the scrapyard?”
Someday,
I’ll find out.
Surrounded by the steam
that comes from those buildings
doing whatever it is that they
might do,
I’ll smoke a cigarette,
count the pigeons that land nearby,
and think of the best way
to tell you all
about it.
***
-JBClaywell
© P&Z Publications 2018
Nov 30, 2018
Nov 30, 2018 at 5:12 PM UTC
.
Looking on
this expanse that encircles me,
closing in during open hours,
unlocking doors I can’t seem to walk through
Stairways of rotted, termite eaten steps
each with my name painted on them,
creaking underfoot,
losing to the weight of
long lines at self serve counters
wrapping around as if
nothing is free but here
for some reason it is
And I stand right in the middle
alone in this ocean of faces,
polo shirts and penny loafers
staring at cell phone screens,
calling someone,
talking with their hands,
hands free?
Paying it forward,
coffee for the next guy in line,
but not me
For I am just here, anywhere,
somewhere like this,
a thing plopped down,
fallen from the sky,
splattering on the earth,
consumed by the soil,
muddied footprints and all
trudging through the wilderness,
carving a path of existence
breaking branches and
scattering bread crumbs
Still I am me,
standing tall among the taller,
enjoying the shade,
sipping lemonade and eating apple dumplings,
pushing, not pulling forward,
dreaming, (of course)
regardless of tire tracks and scars
or pointed fingers,
Pounding the pavement,
laying a foundation,
driven beyond
Parking lot base,
asphalt themed destinations,
a checkerboard of last rites and dead batteries,
yellow lines on the horizon,
handicapped up front
Looking out over the valley,
watching the world go by,
admiring the beauty,
loving life,
rejoicing in the fact
that it is all so immensely
vast . . .
as am I
Jul 22, 2016
Jul 22, 2016 at 8:28 AM UTC
Strangely this evening
I am reminded of another dusk
when some winters ago
from the freezing skies
plopped a single raindrop
Bearing the scent of
Your springs
autumns
and deceased summers.
I thought I was immune to seasons
Yet I celebrate
Draw colorful patterns on wet earth
And fly kites on embracing skies.
Sometimes..
My alive-ness surprises even me…
Jan 16, 2011
Jan 16, 2011 at 3:59 PM UTC
I crept up to the rocking chair
Perched beside my bedroom door,
Pressed my ear up to the wood
Waiting for daddy's snores,
Silence in heaps,
Between discounted sheep,
Blared into the darkness,
Until, an eye-squeezing roar
Shook the entire first floor,
Following my tiptoes across the carpet.
Down the hall and to the left
And quickly up the stairs
(Swiftly, I went
In my flighty ascent -
Should goblins follow,
Me - unawares),
I burst into the attic
Heart naively in panic -
Back evened with the sturdy door,
The attic, at last!
The window ahead,
And beyond it,
I could only imagine.
--
Daddy told me once,
From behind billows of smoke,
That the more I dreamt
The more things awoke,
I dreamt of a dragon
In bed that night,
So, with the stars, up high
Should be a dragon in flight,
I threw open the curtains,
Soul, a wish-filled flagon,
Breath held tight
To behold my...lizard?
--
An itty bitty
Teeny weeny
Green,
(and somewhat, brownish)
Thing,
Crawled across
My window sill
Lacking all his
Dragon things,
His dragon hue,
And dragon size,
Everything
Dragon-wise,
I plopped down to
The floor beneath
The window,
And I took a seat,
I watched that little
Dragonette -
Slowly trying
To just forget,
The dragon I had come to see
Hadn't cared enough to come see me,
Then that lizard did a crazy thing -
Popped up his head -
Showin' a big pink thing!
I wasn't sure what sounds lizards made
So, I moved up close
('cause I wasn't afraid!)
Eye to eye,
I leaned in close,
Then that thing jumped forward
And bit my nose!
...
I'm pretty sure he liked me.
Aug 2, 2011
Aug 2, 2011 at 6:34 PM UTC
I've been rightly doing taxidermy
More years than I care to count
Is it any wonder that I got bored
Stuffing Raccoon, Deer, and Antelope by the pound
So I went and changed around my tactics
And believe me things have been going swell
Since it's no longer only animals that I stuff
But people just as well
I went and opened up a funeral parlor
So the two I've now combined
Where I offer up the best of both
For one low extraordinary price
People are dying to get my services (Pardon the Pun)
From many miles around
They love the idea of being stuffed
Before they're plopped into the ground
Why some are even being stuffed
With their best friend sewed forever in their arms
To spend eternity with Buffy the Poodle
To me, holds at bit of charm
What ever position you want planted in
I am more than willing to please
Moon your friends a lasting goodbye
Is the special of the week
For those not sure where they're going
I'm an expert in stuffing the face
With a look of total surprise and confusion
In case they end up in the wrong place
How you wish to give your final farewells
We're not here to question why
But only to offer the One, Two, or Five Finger Special
In how you'd like to wave goodbye
So hurry and make those reservations
At Billy Bobs Taxidermy & Mortuarium
Cause we're stuffing it hard and heavy these days
Where it is we got it all going on
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 6:44 PM UTC
He laid out some towels
She set a bucket right on top
The outside pitter patter
Echoed closely by drip drop
She plopped down on the couch and said
“I hate our leaky roof…”
He cozied up right next to her
“We’re newlyweds, it’s cute!”
The dog had left a pungent gift
Spread out across the floor
They tied cloth over their noses
Prepared to go to war
They scrubbed the ground on hands and knees
He, unusually mute
She poked his side with smiling eyes
“We’re newlyweds, it’s cute!”
Baby two cried till blue
Every other hour
And baby one learned to run
Too young for such a power
People seemed to judge and stare
Her cheeks turned rosy red
He raised his voice, ignoring glares
“It’s cute! We’re newlyweds!”
She zipped up the dress
He escorted down the aisle
And gave away his baby girl
His heart in full denial
The newfound silence of their home
Was echoed in his head
She played their own first dance song
“It’s cute, we’re newlyweds”
Years spilled by, the kids had kids
Less heed was paid to clocks
Days now passed in reading chairs
With simple meals and long walks
They shuffled down the sidewalk
At a careful, measured pace
Their scooting right in sync,
A peculiar kind of grace
She paused to rub her fingers
His hands were also wrung
She raised her deep-set eyes to his
“Do you ever miss when we were young?”
His wrinkles seemed to lengthen
As a gleam came to his eye
His mind replaying memories
Of leaky roofs and a youthful bride
Then he looked at the woman beside him
Drooped by the weight of long life
And for a moment he stayed silent
Overwhelmed by his beautiful wife...
“I don’t miss when we were young
Though time has worn us down
The love I had for you back then
Cannot compare to now
I’ll brave a thousand achey bones
Just to take slow walks with you.
Besides,” he took her hand in his
“We’re newlyweds, it’s cute.”
Aug 14, 2025
Aug 14, 2025 at 12:08 AM UTC
There was a gap between the trees
And when I pushed through all the leaves
I saw a wizard standing there
With pointy hat and snow-white hair.
His beard grew down to his feet,
The most wizardy wizard you could meet.
"Come on son, you're late you know?
We don't want to miss the big show."
"Excuse me sir, but you really should
tell me if your magic is bad or good."
"Oh yes of course my magic's good.
Don't you know your in Merlin's wood?"
So off we went to see the thing
That Merlin called a great big fling
Dragons were dancing in the meadow
We laughed and giggled at those big fellows
Great wings flapped around ***** nilly
It made all the beasts look rather silly
Then Merlin said it was time to go
A wave of his wand and what do you know?
I plopped down, back at my tree
And there was Mom calling for me.
One last look, behind my back
I thought I saw his dancing hat
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 5:33 PM UTC
the rain beat down
each drop a tiny life
falling
falling
forever falling
down to the mortals and the
surface below
plopped and dropped and plinked
out of existence
to become the moisture
the nip and
the annoyance
on our faces.
how we take their lives for granted
how we ignore their cries for help;
were it you that was falling
so freakishly fast
from the furrowed clouds and
the oceans' past
would you dare to wipe
that wetness away
or would you let it sit
and let it
stay?
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 1:25 PM UTC
21st Century contraption of a mind , snatched from birth , taught how to "Walk the Line , " Hammered into conformity , Play Doh brains pressed in a mold , dressed , plopped on a conveyor , not one piece out of place ..
Our State cores a whole , pours a mandatory twelve years of robot ideology between our ears , who we should emulate , who we should fear
.. Fed factory Farm swill , sequester our imaginations , zero tolerance , shot full of Ritalin ...
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 6:26 PM UTC