A stupid one line poem not saying very much, means chances are quite low for any nice soft touch.
I woke up early to vote then split, 'cause if I'm not at work on time, I'll hear a royal boss fit. I get to the polls, whip out my ID, a man eating rolls says they taste like dead fleas. He brushes off some crumbs then asks what's my name, says they're all a bunch of bums chasing cheap fame. I ask him if he can say that, talk about the race, but he looks right back at me with a wide, puzzled face. "The bakers and the stores are gettin' real famous selling overpriced crap they pull from their anus." Unvarnished insults and a crude mental picture make voting just as fun as medieval study scripture. I finish work early then head home for dinner, will I know by tonight who will be the winner? I hear a bird chirp so I turn my head and stretch, the sun has just come up with no democracy to sketch. It was nice to remember and dream how it was, long before forgetting that we knows what we does.
A book was for sale at a nice price, the buyer had no cash, he tried to pay with some ice. The seller said she didn't need frozen water, what would she say to her inquisitive daughter? The buyer said listen I live in a hell, where ice is rare and easy to sell. Well said the seller, not on this Earth, we sell for cash and for what things are worth. The buyer looked closer with a devilish smile, and said to convince her he'd walk many miles. She felt a strong chill without touching the ice, thinking this isn't really so nice. If this man is Satan the devil himself, she asked herself privately, book back on the shelf. I know what you thought, the buyer said then, no I am not, not since age ten. Where is this hell and how old are you now, said the bookseller, her a face a long frown. It's inside my head, about four million five, years as you count but it's all fancy jive. Hell's not a place you're sent for your sins, with a big ugly face where nobody wins? No, said the buyer who dropped all his ice, it'll melt soon enough and I can't meet the price. He rushed out the door, ran down the street, about quarter to four quickly showing his feet. The woman woke up, put on her shoes and swore on a bible, no more FoxNews.
The time is so good now for really stupid shit, it's as dumb as a rock and worse than well used spit. Riots feed big power but only for a few, you don't need a tower to see their nice front pew. Sanctimonious crap is flowing just like sewage, social disagreement has reached high level screwage. Nostradamus would say it's a comet in the heavens, but humans only pray for peace and a few weapons. Would Martin Luther King want George Floyd to die, just to have us all singing a good systemic lie? Racism is power, so it can't be fixed today, things will turn too sour and get money moved away. Let's divide up into groups then say most whites are bad, these suckers like to listen to any dumb-ass fad. It doesn't matter anyway who is losing out, screw all little people while they fart and scream and shout. We're deep state illuminati, powerful and strong, we know you think that's snotty, disgusting and so wrong. We train you to obey, fool you that it's right, you learn well planned emotions and deny there's any light. We love big disagreement, it covers up our tools, so no one sees our work, people proud to be our fools.
We need a little poem but written like a sentence, that's a way to show a confessional with penance. Poems dressed as prose, what the heck is that, what I think I chose just is not coming back. It doesn't matter now 'cause everything's a gift so pick the best way how to experience The Shift. Pass the beans and serve the rice, fill that plate and please be nice.
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