A belly of butterflies Danced to the sound Of harmonica trees And the violin leaves Synesthesia bound To the whispering winds
By Michael Brandon Marchese4 years ago in Poets
Yelling at cows To communicate Don’t It’s the nothing to eat And the nothing You won’t It’s illiterate faith In a written conviction
My last supper was years ago Hunger and I go way back We like watching things burn And then making dark magic It’s tragic, really I know
Feel free to look To gaze upon Them in their natural state Primate A primal instinct Culture distinct From the hominids
‘Tis not by the sword But the pen that I fall For I’ve taken such life From the words that I scrawl With a lack of remorse
Show me more photos, More smile disguises I’m glad that your happiness Isn’t a virus Don’t know if you’re trying To hurt me
Finish your thought And I’ll tell you the problem It’s shitholes still saying This nation is great When there’s so much more human
2 years elapses Right back to the Lapse in The facts In this Pax ‘Mericana Reacting en masse To the mass Paranoia,
I bump in the night I creak in the door I drip in the pipe I lurk in the floor Buried And beating And drumming of war
As lost in my writing As I am the world Fixated on finding Perfection of word Has guided me thus far Along undeterred
We all want to help The squalid Little kid But trust me Stay home You’ll be glad that you did Your donations Don’t make it
Insist on your entitled status Updates Then extinguish the Kindle Of past Tinder dates Like a dwindling flame In a deluge of privilege
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