Look him in the eye, Underneath you are growing thick horns, Move your spine towards his brick fist, Bum now twisting on a medical trolley, Every nerve of yours is stretched like putty,
To us, they are the innocent drops of pure sentiment, Early or late spills, like seasons, move us, A handkerchief or tissue dabs at the losses, Raw pain surfaces,
Background: "Out of the Picture" by Gristo inspired me to write this poem. Thank you Gristo. Put on a subtle grin, Have the instinct to pose perfect, One to four second clinks,
Going to plot a friendly invasion, Eagle’s nest buzzing with action bees, Standing against a wall, the Fuhrer hums Wagner, Two SS men hand him some confidential documents with red seals,