Photo by Mark von Werder on Unsplash

C Minus

It’s a dreadful mirror he/she/it was observing..
Artificial snowflakes, some plastic cherries, non-seasonal trees and we kept on posting poses of human-success-instructions we learned in history class, Napoleon's great-great-grand-daughter sighs.
Past tense, present progressive, personal-disorder-obsessive, what about yesterday’s dishes, the director replies to the no-name worker, get your ass out of my face. And fast!!
Language barriers, and river didn’t meet the sea after all and mental grammar was stranding on the wrong side of the bank, fishing for clues of how not to be hooked by the charlatan that crossed my brown-wannabe-green eyes.
The story drowned in software-technical-error because who is I, you, we meant to be?
2022, a nice number to write on graveyards’ marble blocks..
And life continues as Genghis Khan McDrives on his wild horse for a cheeseburger at 07:00 before a new war was to begin grinding truth for more questions, terrain lust and foreign genitals.
I didn’t understand this article, my poetry professor mentioned with a C Minus, whatever that means in today’s contemporary Epicurean approach to a purple sprinkle Donald Trump donut know.