Every man with a sense of purpose has what he wants: a homeowner – a homeownership; a slickster, as slick as a public pool’s bottom, – a public pool; a villain – curses; a hero – a commemorative plaque on the wall of the house wherein he lived for a quarter century with his miserable marriage. I want nothing, ergo, I have nor marriage, nor curses, nor plaque, nor homeownership. I have no pool either.
Here we have an illustration of the deficiencies of a freelancer's lifestyle.
Categories:
deficiencies, life,
Form: Prose
I heard, the economical Americans put a brick into the toilet tank. The economical Russians put there a couple of Stoli. When I was living on the Odisha beach, I had neither Stoli, nor a brick, nor a toilet tank.
Here we have an illustration of the deficiencies of a freelancer's lifestyle.
Categories:
deficiencies, life,
Form: Prose
A youngster, humpbacked with wisdom, and an old man, burning with love, both of them, commuting to work on a subway, see a lot of interesting people: a budding manager with a red-hot lightning instead of his tiepin; a public toilet's volunteer; a ballerina, sleepy and yawning like a mermaid on ice as well as lobsters and other crustaceans too. I don't commute, ergo, I see nobody and sublimate my social life in the commentaries to Poertrysoup.
Here we have an illustration of the deficiencies of a freelancer's lifestyle.
Categories:
deficiencies, life,
Form: Prose
A hercules, rising at six a.m, has three scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, fries, toast, orange juice, and coffee. I wake up at noon and can't face food until at least two p.m.
Here we have an illustration of the deficiencies of a freelancer's lifestyle.
Categories:
deficiencies, life,
Form: Prose
The image of a young child filled her mind,
she was no more than four feet tall,
sweet and very kind,
always loved the mall,
her voice crackling,
her mind tackling
issues she thought she didn’t have to deal with,
it was a crying shame,
she knew her clothes were getting too big,
as they draped a thin frame,
sometimes she’d look like a twig,
the image of her were of skeleton and bone,
malnourished, deficiencies, defects,
is why she always felt alone,
it made her a pale trophy for death’s room,
as it craved her end, and craved her doom,
her sickness became intense,
there was no pretense,
that she could sense,
her glossy eyes revealed the signs,
she was just too thin,
bones sticking out all over her skin,
her mother walking on the beach, so sad,
as she walked on the white sand, so mad,
chiseled and polished by the rushing tide,
crying, uncontrollably,
because that day her daughter died.
Categories:
deficiencies, daughter, family, motherimage,
Form: Dramatic Verse