Tonight I’m alone, sprawled on the floor
cold under a blanket listening to Charlie Chaplin,
thinking about poetry and the 1940’s noir,
reminiscing 18 year old modeling photos— Pin
on the bulletin board is a gardenia written note
blanketed with words that return warmth to my body
as red wine stains the words my ears wrote
People are tired of repetition, tired of being babies
goose-stepped into misery and bloodshed.
People are impatient about basic language and maybes
they want to lazed luxuries, cigars, and bed.
People in America are spoiled, even the poor
they don’t know poor like the Filipino store.
Ummm I don't know whats going on with the bottom half of this? words won't stay together so ignore.
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