Read all the appropriate newspapers and periodicals. The business world doesn't need me now. They have computers that think.
Computers called servers that use algorithms to take the shore into their mouths.
Oh well, I can write poetry now like I always wanted.
Religion, Philosophy, Psychology, Poetry
Who needs more at sixty-two?
FICTITIOUS BARACK OBAMA: Consider yourself lucky. I'd love to write all day to my loved ones.
Poetry by John Rubens
Sitting on the seashore
Seeing ships sail southward
Dreams of Antarctica pop briskly to mind.
Cold, frozen and bitter cold I die soon but is it only sleep?
Dreams in Sleep are as strange.
I'm often glad those nightmares are not actual events yet.
Precious dreams in pleasant places give hope to love-parched lips--but as the dream ends, the blonde is nowhere.
copyright
John Rubens December 6, 2020
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