Plastic Man At Home
everyday for a year, ritually, he sits and cries, wishing he was human again, if only, he could convince his bowels to move, but mind over matter, no longer has the roughage of relevance.
Plastic Veterans
let us now become
veterans for peace
re-trained
in a boot camp for global love
let us bury the b-b guns of tolerance
and re-arm ourselves with the
mass weapons
of celebrated inclusion
let us now become
veterans for peace
re-trained
in a boot camp for global love
let us bury the b-b guns of tolerance
and re-arm ourselves with the
mass weapons
of celebrated inclusion
The Plastic Man Sits
In the corner I sit
My thoughts close to
My Vest
My fingers amaze me
yesterday I counted 8
Today there are only 6
4 on one hand
2 on the other
I would retrace my
Steps but
Sit here in fear
For this morning
I had no toes
In the corner I sit
My thoughts close to
My Vest
My fingers amaze me
yesterday I counted 8
Today there are only 6
4 on one hand
2 on the other
I would retrace my
Steps but
Sit here in fear
For this morning
I had no toes
