I cannot see the rainbow at the end of the forested gold.
I cannot hear the wind that is spinning the turbines of a new age power.
I cannot smell the drafts of befouled air spewed out by industrial giants.
I cannot touch the crisp sheet on the dreamer's bed.
I cannot taste the swirling spirit of your beautiful soul.
My senses have been dimmed, my being overloaded by the taxation of numbers.
Damn!
When is this tax season gonna end?
Man, that was definitely flashy but I don't know how fictiony. More like a nonsensical prose poem.
I had to try. Maybe a little too soon, but I am beginning to see/hear/smell/touch/taste that tax season may actually to move towards the exit.
Be brave! Soon I may be able to play a favorite game - CREATE YOUR OWN SPRING BREAK!!!
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