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Tag: biographical
Poem: And that’s the price of fame
Life Is sweet, or whatever baby
My roses aren’t growing and your car’s not in my parking lot
I’m flowing like hot boiling water– crashing, pour me another cup, slowly in your ceramic mug over your chamomile tea bags
I’m soft like, all the time
Not ready to make you mine
Let the L-theanine take me to space
I like it this way
Me, making the rules
But I don’t want all of the responsibility
So I roll over and I see you
What you making for breakfast, hun
I put on my blue satin robe and walk to the kitchen
See you on the phone there, so I won’t disturb
Pour my arms around you like you’re the softest bedsheets I’m buying at Bloomingdales
Hidden targets
Embedded formats
You love my perfume
Stretch your tanned neck to smell mine
Hey wrap around me, I think you’re pretty divine
Teaching me stick shift with my eyes closed
You notice my salmon pink nails
Make fun of me for being a diva
Buy me the best ashy grey graphite for my sketches
Of wedding dresses and gowns
And torn down queens
For me to take to town
See who’ll buy
(I get mean)
You’ll be smoking cigarettes nearby
I’m so proud to say that you’re my guy
I tell people for no reason at all
But I’m trying to be realistic
I’m really trying to keep my love in
Not shower you, like I might
I know you keep telling me it’s alright
I’m filled with so much love, I want to throw it out
Into the grave distance, see if it will run wild
You and I, we both need a break, we need to get out
Take breaks from falling like a bumble bee
Bring me coffee from that coffee shop you hate
You’re adapting to me
And that scares me
That scares me
Camera flashes
Fine finances
Swim deep into the vast open sea
But let’s go, take a trip to Nebraska or Kansas
I’ll wear white cowboy boots, get in your 4 by 4
My crystal cove Coca Cola babe
You can’t hurt me yet
You can’t hurt me yet
You can’t hurt me yet
You can’t hurt me yet
I haven’t lost myself yet
But I’m seeing it in you
No, don’t hurt me yet
Don’t hurt me yet
You can’t hurt me yet
You can’t-
You can’t-
Please don’t hurt me yet
But life is sweet or whatever, baby
But life is sweet or whatever, baby
written April 7, 2021 at approximately 4:14 am
Poem: 1933-1945
We would like you to enlist in our services.
For some people, war is war. For others – dear mother. Russian Proverb
The painting of slogans on buildings
Young people were attracted to a group that offered adventure
Distinctive military appearances
Who achieved more?
We were all keeping score
The unquestioned leader
Officers and politicians
Ugh, so nationalistic
My brother, he had
A stern political career
Damaged
In the postwar years
He blamed his associates
Secret meetings
Apocalyptic trains
That would combust all of a sudden
Confidential minutes of a downhill argument
When you’re Russian they think you’re very clever
All a hoax
From the flood, a new world will be born
Signs and wonders are seen
From the unruly flood
Come Holy Spirit creator
Salvation is to befall
Ukraine
Liberation of humanity
Whine about wretched nest eggs
His lack of success
No chance of survival
Less-than-mediocre poet
He died just like that
Nobody cried about it