Thursday, September 21, 2017

day TWO HUNDRED and FORTY FIVE

Gregarious

His highness has morphed us
into a jar of pickled pansies,
packed tightly in a juice
squeezed from the cursory
enlightenment bestowed
upon us by his "flawless"
leadership

The hawk is circling over the last
remnants of our independence,
so we must choose to run
or succumb, survival
of the haughtiest

I guess we all have to die,
sometime.

--Jenny Santellano

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