When The Water In The Skin Was Gone, She Put The Boy In The Bushes Just About A Bow Shot Away

Hung and hung,

what a useless bit of manure

With eyes protruding from the appropriate lines

remaining upon an extensive pile of wood

Be that as it may, this had dependably been a piece of the arrangement,

immature tissue, pubescent, delicate and warm

Stray sustain for any feathered creature that has chosen to peck,

stressed weed, hungry parts for a wayward soul

great god, simply take a gander at it consume

In battles that have prompted an assortment of trees, solid and supple no enchantment, no terrible seed, there are great folks transcending them, shaking their heads searching for new terms of headway, quick tracks to different parts of the world, released skin, sick sired family, posting their plums upon hesitant outings for improvement Yet there are numerous approaches to get a stick, give backup ways to go to kind individuals who have chosen to loll in their wonderfulness, huge dreams another story for the sluggish seekers who have chosen to work the boll weevil for fervor and benefit, don’t stress there is no compelling reason to stop it, over the slopes they go, investigating every possibility scanning for a riddle trick, insipid utensils, bearing the product of a freshly discovered mechanical assembly, only a solitary parent who feels relinquished, undesirable yet this appears to happen just at a cost, red shafts now exist in feelings as there are pretenders who will be sold, surrender their odor surrender the openings that exist in clammy pockets as this is the rain going to the fore, bird shots unworthy tots have started to upgrade the anxiety, ladies in cells clamoring to another beat, neglectful culprits surfacing close to the edge.

Gerald Marchewka is an Am