chromatic word syndrome…

i wonder sometimes
what is the color of words
that some can’t be heard
leaving lips with the same sounds
yet no audience is found

donald’s ducks or not me….

donald
the lump
is in a slump
knows not
what to do
so begins
to complain
looks
for someone else
to blame
for things
that he’s said
and
his empty bed
there’s always
mccain
but that’s
so lame
since
he’s a hero
and
you’re a zero
hey
why not
blame allah
and
all that lot
or
fabricate
another plot
so much
to choose
when you’re
pampered
and
unhampered
by
the truth

postponements…

life’s faded
to-do list
held in hands
marred
by time
once strong line
discolored
by
hope’s tears
over the years
promises
made
and sought
now
for naught
an
old man
his mirror
a last friend

bogus bounty of dreams…

terrorized tattooed ladies
tiptoed through
donald’s dreams
dancing daintily
across his nose
shaking
baskets of pollen
as if
salting
the earth
so
nothing
more
could grow
and
seeking revenge
for
all
women
treated as
caveman possessions
possessions
to be dragged
to the bedroom
where
more often
than not
nothing developed
thus
he awoke
alone
in a cold
feverish sweat
bed wet
nothing left to do
but
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