a poem for today, 7 June 2012
[a letter sorted sonnet of fourteen sentences and its image]
Ideals are society's slaves.
We are definitely ephemeral.
I just wanted to aware you all.
It all spins back to the middle.
I wanted to tear the doors open.
Later that night, I made a plan.
Horny chick wants to show off her body.
It's like peeling an onion to its core.
That was all she dreamed about: escape.
That sounds like the name of a lip gloss.
I totally have to go wherever this music is coming from.
What a chance.
That time at your work or the time in the back of the Lexus.
Dream delivers us to dream, and there is no end to illusion.
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