I’m sorry Mom, I miss your food; but as a man now, I must choose. Compassion is in me as I try to digest a diet void of the greedy machine. Still some fish but much more green servings remain in my memory:
Nothing as lovely as my mother’s chili.
Where gun shots blaze – an explosion of feathers Daffodil petals Knife wounds fester – aurora borealis rainbow colors When explosions ring – harps pluck purity elasticity Calamitous comets ingenuity
Held within modern cinema is the same fantastic idea; except the fantasy is now computerized and super human powers are CGI’ed. “We want to be the hero,” said everyone, worldwide; although there are