A-MUSE-MEND
A-MUSE-MEND
The musings of a kid, they say. The spark of emotions, notwithstanding their perusive eyes. All they want is to tear me apart. ‘Judgement day’.
As I stand shriveled up in their mind’s corner, with eye’s and hairs upon me. Armpit hair, baldie’s hair(s) gaze upon me, to make me small. But pubic hair triumphs al land I emerge.
Yes, I emerge unfazed, undeterred, stepping up for the zillionth me.
Could be the democratic front, give it a Italian, Hindu, widowed, youth promotion, or just plain Bush’es with ‘saffron’, Flowers’. Instigating the nation with vibrant ideas, wake up sleepy old minds. ( a smooth operator!)
Or maybe inherit a godfather, bosoms and thrusts accompanied, ‘real’ to ‘reel’.
Or would I rather go on a joyride of ‘me’ and ‘you’ and make ‘two and two and two and well another two wouldn’t hurt’. Joining the joyride, putting on a hapless face, waiting for the exhausted seeds to grow into another zillionth ‘me’.
Or would you rather change it to a single ‘you’