ALLEY catz dozeing off in the park.
MR beethoven sticking a pin in his
virus infected veins, the moon turns
his flash light on, and finds a women,
child, and man, with out food, water,
or home.
AND the trash is blown to the gutter,
AND the laughter is turned in to tears,
AND the firing squad shows up, and tells
all these peaple to pick up your shit,
and leave.
A green palace of pleasure to some, a cold, dirty, desperate refuge to others. Well-communicated contrast here. Warm regards, Gina.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
DAVID...GRAPHIC PRESENTATION...BEETHOVEN SHOT UP? IF NO, ITS A HELLUVA WHAT-IF! A TEN FOR YA THOUGHTS! '''''''''''''''''''FRANK