Flirt With Popcorn

The dragging of kung-fu fairy tales

Leave me me sour as I dress up for my

Late evening start.

My happy beginning is no longer

Stemming from a womb of natural talent

And the plastic faces shine so much

That it hurts my eyes, like a bald man

Under a hot light.

 

Furrowing into a world where victims and innocents

Are stranded in a swamp of their own ego,

And the common spoon is dipped into

The coffee of beautiful black recognition.

Smiles and squirms under the

Camera makes for damp underwear

through a lens.

 

Reaching out I put my hand through time

And pull out a premature baby

That pouts.

The End

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