A politician does something counter stereotypical and it is photographed in the press.
A doctor poisons his patient.
A policeman begins a riot and gang-rapes a female student.
A camera points West – remote shutter activated.
And we wonder why all photo albums look the same.
Prostitutes give up life on the game
Fashionistas all begin to dress the same
And little boy blue gets tickled under the chin
A-choo-choo-choo A-choo-choo-choo
A cure for ebola is found and kills off the common cold
Lost people are found wandering around neighbourhoods that all look the same.
Families grow and spread out like margarine
on the great piece of toast, that is our island maritime.
This poem has taken on a life of its own and the next
sentence, when it appears, is like ‘so not my own’
But if I am to participate in the great game called life.
Like a politician is how i will spend half of my life.
I'm bilaterally deaf, schizophrenic, autistic, talented individual. I can see you thinking...What was his day job? Well, I am a qualified systems engineer and i worked in computers. To be honest I can't remember what I wrote in my bio which I deleted. I write I draw, It is my goal in life to be anything but facsimilia. I believe life is duodecimal, you live you die, dark. Some call this depression and indeed I am a depressive schizophrenic. To be something is a great thing-some call it drosophilae syndrome(to be studied), a term I coined myself. As I appreciate in words as I get older sometimes it helps to remember what it was like being a child with drosophilae syndrome where the other is to be seen. This is why I draw and write. 