(poems go here)Glowing white lights on top of a hill written in a big block letters, famous in many movies

A big golden arch, delivering fried goodness to over a billion people

Big red letters on a brown crate, maybe written in Italian? FRAH-GEE-LE

Driving, passing a pole with a blue sign, two white lowercase “l” ‘s connected by a line

Rumor is that’s where people die, yet also where they’re born

What’s this red octagon with white lettering…why did that person almost hit me with their car?

Following these green signs on top of long poles to supposedly find my way home.

White notice on my front door, red lettering, EVICTED. Why?

I press those buttons with the printed numbers and pick up the listening device

Magically those printed buttons direct me to who I need to speak to.

I ask what this piece of dead tree with scarlet lettering means.

They say it’s because I didn’t give them enough of that green paper by the time the white paper with the squares and numbers and months said it was due.

I decide to take a walk to the nearest bagel store.

I look at the sign on the door, hanging by a string, slightly sloped, a sign that deciphers whether the store owner wants people to come in or not.

I see I can come in.

I look up at the white board hanging above the bagels

It has the bagels and the amount of green paper they want for it.

I get a sesame bagel and give the nice man one green paper and a large, silver, metal circle.

I sit down and decide that I have to use the restroom.

I turn around and see another white piece of paper with black writing that says, OUT OF ORDER.

I think long and hard.

This single piece of paper determines whether or not I can use the bathroom.

This single green piece of dead tree determines whether I can afford my home or not.

This white piece of a paper with months, numbers, and blocks tell me what day it is. I can’t argue with it because it’s always correct.

People blame that golden arch with the scary clown mascot for their weight, which in turn, they blame for their divorce, unhappiness, poor life style and death.

These propagandas of living determine our life.

We do what these lifeless objects tell us to.

We believe what they say without question.

Poetry unveils these daily dictators

Allows for questions and undisturbed thoughts

Grammar doesn’t need to exist

As long as the thoughts are out there

Once again,

On paper.