people who drop rubbish are so very very ignorant aren't they? BIN BAN BOOSH NOODLES AND CREAM.
Oh a lethargic tidal wave. Atomic power of circumference but dormant, hibernating, and still. But placing pineapple ears that stick up in triangular styles is not very fitting really as one should only use round shaped ears of peach due to the sheer fact that the ear lobe would be more appeasing to the wide girth of the trashed out portly container. Containers are neither carriers nor cartons and cartons carbonise so never attempt a wibble wobble jelly dance with eighteen trees and a silvery eyed gooseberry. Giant grabbing garters getting grateful gears. And the sole duty of a perpetual perplexes pink pointing polecat is to pinch proper placed plates pedantically. Semantic swans then. Ha. Xxxxx mythologized z z z z z at thirty four duvet covers writing notes to the mattresses to six fully plumped up pillows wiggling. Z astronomical.
someone asked her what she was looking at
as she stood in front of the large picture window in the kitchen
in the abode where she presently resided---
the question came aloud from another room,
as if the questioner was busy themselves & only in passing
did they see the girl standing
with eyes focused,
arms at her sides,
as if in a private state of wonder
(& why a private state of wonder seems to be ample food for the
popular & public, pedantically preposterous, who prey upon the
rest of us---we’ll never know) &
so without hesitation they rambled out their comment,
not sticking around a moment for an answer &
as if that itself was not an answer to such a question,
the girl standing in front of the window
neglected to say anything, instead,
taking an extra moment to enjoy what it was that she
had been privately concerned with,
whatever images appeared out there
that her own sense of sensory perception
was devouring, free of the babble
swirling all around,
incessantly---
You've cost me more than money,
You've cost me dignity and pride.
The wish that I had not let go,
Of all I held inside.
All the pain that comes with love,
And all the hate that follows.
All the time I can only hope,
That yesterday is tomorrow.
So I can stop, and save my life,
From the treachery you bequeathed.
From all the broken promises,
And heartache I received.
For all the time that time stood still,
For all the time it didn't.
For wearing my heart upon my sleeve,
When I should have kept it hidden.
For tears crawl pedantically,
Down my mourning face.
But thoughts still fly round frantically,
Bringing with them bitter taste.
For it may be dead inside you,
But inside me burns a flame.
The winds of time will not blow out,
And anger will not tame.
In a stolen moment
of solitude I sit
at the base of my
bookshelf and
surrender to swirling
synaptic symphonies of
Solzhenitsyn
In yet another
purloined pause
I pensively peruse
Poe’s pedantically
petrifying ponderings
I desperately desire
a day to dutifully
devour Dickinson’s
dreamy dirges
Alas
my children call
and I must leave
my literary wonderland
all is not lost
for bedtime is near
and Dr. Seuss awaits
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