For better and or worse….
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Sometimes when I write poems it is as if I am not actually writing them. Anyone else ever feel this?
sky blue backdrop man
falls, flies, flaps his arms and waves
I never knew it was poetry month. I am not a poet, anymore.
Let’s see… Are roses still red? Violets blue? Here is an impromptu prose poem.
Roses are burnt orange because of gasoline being five hundred dollars a gallon and me being quite wealthy. It probably isn’t healthy burning roses with gasoline but I was cold. It is unseasonably warm here in Siberia. I have been exiled by the POTUS. He is Russian, POTUS. That stands for president of the us. I don’t know what that means. They only teach communism here in the states now. Charlie Brown is red and the sky is green and grass is blue but not in Kentucky.