Tuesday, September 3, 2013

4599. IN THE COMPLETENESS OF TIME

IN THE
COMPLETENESS
OF TIME
Now in the completeness of time we are finished, and
I am tried of hearing what other people have to say.
Flowers and love, lost moments fraught with all the
old 'romantical' conundrums, the heart you lost and burst,
the flower that was you in the unfinished aspects of your
love which died too quickly. Balderdash, and throw it all
away! We are dying, God-dammit, through all the works
 of dead, bull-headed men. And I should listen to your
sorry drivel? The mountain grows its stony cold, and
your fragile heart breaks. The children are so sweet and
dear, and their beauty and innocence incommensurate
with anything else. And your pure and so colorful heart
still breaks. That is all you see? We are dying, God-dammit,
 through the inconsiderate pornography of inconsiderate
people!  Look up! See something real! Smell this season's
rotten coffee brewing. In the completeness of time, we are
finished. And you've let it all occur; and you, and you.
With you heart. With your bonnet. With your fiery
kerchief and flowing, impressively colored, scarf.

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