88CharlaX88
Someone
Somewhere in the world there is a child of GOD this person is a wite boy a blak girl a indin maid a warrior a brave a student of a school a waitress or a delivery a worker at the grocery or a server at a diner a slave to money a misuse of the love inside the body. Someone who uses things like leather wallets purses keys clean white sheets plates full of empty things cups are never empty of the smell they seem just fine and dandy lying until cornered by the landing lights moving down the runaway stepping out of time to find the GOD of tarmac. Ripping things apart inescapable delight is rendering the plastic dash and metal radio waves apart. Rubber turns upon the asphalt jungle floored the gas pedal of the flower settles to become the dead and dying carcase of dull green anatomy wings half eaten off by the ants in control of other ants giving orders as they kill no one no living thing at all just reorder all the living things to make the hive sing as industry prevails a heartless mess indeed the whale a marching tune of niggardly refrain the pain of life is justified the monkey lives again and cries in Spain they do the Piñata thing for the happy little winoe beggars as they dance for Spain this poet crys then turns away but not forever. Eye forgive ewe Esmeralda.
