on the fourth day of poetry
i held isaac half the day... new words
could never relate. we ate oven-baked
hamburgers for poetry. our smiles
rhymed with 'orange'
i love my son...
....
on the fif' day of poetry, i
began the morning on 99designs
creating logos that glowed in the dark
(more art than logoism/the reason why
i've won just once in 127 attempts!)
127 logo contests... with at least 3
different versions created per contest by me, since
the last week in january... that's waaaay too much
internet not paying off. 3 months of shaking the shit
outta my computer screen/turning keyboards sideways
to see if something green will unfold and fall out...
hoping my motherboard sprouts an atm machine.
isaac's mama hates me (an extremely mutual naturality!)
says its nice that i 'play arts and crafts' for a living, every
compliment ending with "excuse my sarcasm"...
and then its all indecipherable name-calling... appalled
that i laugh.
anyway, long poem short: thats how our 20 year old
with 8.9 months of gestating placenta (made beholden
to her mother's sociopathy) drives 6 hours and
700 miles to pick up her little brother (despite his
spring break in another week) - and how i ended up
holding isaac's laughter in my hands like an oven-baked
hamburger... how a mad cow begat a living love
(that last line is a double entendre/trust me)
i held isaac half the day... new words
could never relate. we ate oven-baked
hamburgers for poetry. our smiles
rhymed with 'orange'
i love my son...
....
on the fif' day of poetry, i
began the morning on 99designs
creating logos that glowed in the dark
(more art than logoism/the reason why
i've won just once in 127 attempts!)
127 logo contests... with at least 3
different versions created per contest by me, since
the last week in january... that's waaaay too much
internet not paying off. 3 months of shaking the shit
outta my computer screen/turning keyboards sideways
to see if something green will unfold and fall out...
hoping my motherboard sprouts an atm machine.
isaac's mama hates me (an extremely mutual naturality!)
says its nice that i 'play arts and crafts' for a living, every
compliment ending with "excuse my sarcasm"...
and then its all indecipherable name-calling... appalled
that i laugh.
anyway, long poem short: thats how our 20 year old
with 8.9 months of gestating placenta (made beholden
to her mother's sociopathy) drives 6 hours and
700 miles to pick up her little brother (despite his
spring break in another week) - and how i ended up
holding isaac's laughter in my hands like an oven-baked
hamburger... how a mad cow begat a living love
(that last line is a double entendre/trust me)
