I thought it innocent enough,
this dart of pucks, visiting hoards, watching, only celebrating success, blue in makeup, but red with sorrow, this wanting eye, perceiving weakness, taken by need, he insults the German, the newly crowned, but wanting inconspicuous knighting, for desiring samples of straw, bread, wheat, none to draw on silence, though it stares at one, or a crowd drawn on beer in blue and red, accomplished, rising above simple admiration, taken aback by obvious drudgery of loss, in numbers impossible to duplicate here. Be it insult, it was taken to be an accepting apology later, to dispel any thought of sanity, flowing as though sounds had no meaning or brothers were kin, but for kingdoms built on bribe, stealing honesty by force, moving friends to wherever the trial seems best, so fast moving is life that they all - or most - a majority wanted a different result from life, the sport of men, women approve of this hometown hero, he takes his place when loss if obvious - because they must nearly disown what has come to be. It will gnaw at the conscience, though a scientist may see it in a better light, the post- game celebration was nothing like we wanted from the mighty slugger, who struck out - at least this time, when beer was offered - no, nearly forced for accepting a seat on the thrown, not free for a second this kingly situation, lacking aplomb, grace or an occasion to bestow the fight to more than a brawl, wanting to satisfy some baser instinct for winning, though it never scarred or stormed the gates of heaven. © 2016 Larry Ingram
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Come to a place of crowds, desperate for another
soul to match our wit, our excellent disposition - to try to unmask rudeness on trains, they track our every mood, cell us, face us, unwilling to let the tracks stop for human error. If only they would see as I do, can, cannot but let the public service, ads for engaging all, but selected for thought, superior, talented, unlike our banal existence, sitting by other blue collars, still white, in search of facing eyes. I nearly eyed him, or her, matters not, but so many stuffed into this space, as I walk to life, fixing things, eating whatever may not be taken so others can spy my trends for eating quickly, though careless at meandering thoughts - they'll surely mug me for my mental acuity - or lack of it, staring into blankness, looking for hope in polished seats, mentioned for wear hardiness, for dispelling rumors of attacks in public, staring down for fear of knowing each other. It's a tack taken by many, exiting this station, that to walk quickly, ignoring instinct for molasses, slowing down life to one sentence, two, or even reading - hold it up to crowds can gain from one's insight into the worthless, or exciting, without giving a clue, it tells of hard worn paper - owned by singularity - how it got here, under arm, armed with cleverness, looking or displays of genius, discard stares, entry points to life, distain for the common, looking for color in the mad dash. © 2016 Larry Ingram It was somewhat non-descrip, this diatribe
of misnomer, trying to breach the parking situation as it were, a travail of sort, landing where it will, burned rubber or coffee - free to all who dare to transgress topics, personalities designed not to be seen. We don't know about this, but for written form that travels across our anger, spouting off a bit when it hits the fan, though cliche, trying all of our patience, when we have to wait, and wait and then seem to express frustration with human rights of coffee. We'll tackle this by a trial and error basis, as we discover the inner pangs of customers, and others servicing them, to their joy, or else, a pitt of reprobation, wafting about in elegant denial, another bagel, baguette, French, though American all in all. Try anther one, then, as you can exert your right to self proclamation - proclaiming something resembling a height of hypocrisy of servicing - we sincerely apologize that you were alive while this happened - and that this bar is lowered to such as degree that no one - at least no adult can pass through - or under at least. All in all, an honest explanation, an exact letter of dismay, as the membership stills, still accumulating points for favor, despite a settled disgust, civil exile, even excommunication from rational thought. We tire of anything beyond exclusive customer service that readies us with attempts to prove our point. © 2016 Larry Ingram |
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