How is your week going little la las? Here is an angry poem (but playful).
he has dreams of branding his lines into flesh and the dissenters, the what’s-it-meaners, the that’s-nonsensers, and their tongues to stew in a cauldron composed of cantos. blister in mouth, of eyes to engulf flaming skyscrapers of simile. he desires to construct airplanes of his stanzas and send them crashing picnics. the hemisphere engulfed in pentameter and the world construed in free free verse.