El Mundo Today


It's the season

It´s the season.

It's cold outside.

Where can we hide?

We're all guilty of treason.

A bee germinates a flower

within our hours.

A metal meets the solid state

with our powers.

What can we do above our maladjusted scour?

How can we be as we try to live up to our potential?

We live in residential areas,

we go to the one job,

the one shop,

the one house and wake up

to the voice, the one choice-

this society.

Joyce and Borges stayed up late writing stuff.

They confused us. They were right. They bluffed us.

Don't mention love to me!

Get me an old type writer

and like cartoon characters eating corn on the cob

I could write about it.

Nothing is written on the page.

It happened to fast

shown as the unknown pleasures that be.

I love you Snow White.

I look down from a height.

I saw it all fade.

Above 30 degrees celsius

an Irish man finds it uncomfortable.

Switch spades.

I'm digging from the one hole.

A lost husky-

Oh my God, she's nagging me.

Listen to me woman I'm just wondering

where I left my dancing shoes!

Fuck this world!

I wouldn't open up the curtains

only for my pet pot plant. Good morning pet pot plant!

Fuck this paper politics,

this origami government

and the financial resentment.

I'm going to build a paper airplane

and throw it at the sun or

hire a man with a gun.

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