As the mold grows, I grow:
founding empires in leftovers, transforming a past-ripe world into something new.
I may grow slowly at first.
I may be lowly but I’m not alone.
America is a week-old submarine sandwich and we’re taking over.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Hero
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2 comments:
that last line: bumper sticker!
You are an undeniable genius, Robyn! There is such a deeply anarchistic spirit to this poem. Using the decaying society as fertilizer for your coup - I love it!
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