This Letter Writ Son Attempts His Dominant Hand Right Ting: Dear Dad

A birthday (mine) looming

over less than a doe
Zen horizons from this evening -

a linear line doth flow straight thru
January second, tooth house hen

and eighteen, thus hello

(or what astrophysicists artificial construct
deems as pseudo Jello

asper Gregorian Calendar),
which finds this Harris son
mulling knowing little
i.e. dearth of quality moments

spent sharing our e mo'
shuns or active listening
to oft told prolonged predictable oh...
platitudinous piquant perorations this poe

whit accrued snippets
of trials and tribulations, sans status quo
as pertaining pointblank

to significant portions of our roe
bussed respective lives,
would be considered foreign
populated with indigenous
animals peoples, and plants. Throw
off kept lore, securely locked, cuz neither
of us felt extremely ambitious to pry

pusilanimous prophet prithee
pop (in jay) plethora pinteresting well nigh
petrified painful experiences be
tween ourselves, when abed aye lie

Awareness beholds cruel deplorable
emptiness, fraught without noah jai alai
generous heaping helpings of aloofness,
burnishing cowering high
ding docility asper estrangement,

faux ska and seven yeas ago, perhaps a Fri
day, thy father figured grandiloquently
within the bosom until teats went dry
Fast forward many decades later

Boyce Brandon Harris got financially fleeced by
“FAKE” enterprises, damn excellent
extortionists (“FAKE” fiendish golems) hood
duped, usurped cents and sensibility.

Despite appearing, copacetic, generic, mood
dee blue 'lectric razor sharp masterminds,
thee nemesis (mal adroit crooks screwed
nonetheless), predaciously, overtly
(figuratively) outfoxed – YouTube

might validate das dumbly winked
bad to the bone ass snake oil salesmen,
they willingly attested. Techniques
ensnaring gullible gamesome robin folks wren

during in broad daylight (in an effort
to swindle, snooker, seduce) pen
sieve unsuspecting victims present
Carnival arcade, holographic innocent men
cadged unable to dodge facade,

stealthy as top notch exquisitely honed ken
engineered, concocted, most likely
retreat against intrusion and/or to escape hen
pecking spouse, within hermetically sealed

assembled hand grenade in this den
of thieves, these “FAKE” business people
earned a grade “A”, for ben
nah fitting, convincing, fabricating, integrating
et cetera ma papa really smart,

who quickly became daddy (poor bucks)
vis a vis via scam schemes tart
tee ness schooling him via costly
emotional, monetary, and spiritual state

Now, the devil in the details didst
(boil, egg, poach, et cetera) practice as first rate
con artists. Unethical crash test shell phish
dummy companies) thuggery I eke quate

coerced essentially, effectively, edgily
emptying wallet, expending in telly gents pate
accumulating his life savings viz mental effort
exhausted smarts to support loving mate

me late mum, (plus ruining nest egg), subsequently
(not surprisingly) got “burned” late
in his life, he became profoundly skeptical,
naturally cynical in hardened carapace, extremely irate
criminals incipiently jerked, kickstarted

linkedin dear ole dad (ah...wait...,
he hapt to be same age or younger than me)
with other defrauded, highjacked, hate
full scumbags, these deftone talking heads

looted purse sons made local news - grate
full dead ghosts hug ghast, but on the flipside
(countless scores years ago) fate
tracked down correspondent Bill Baldini

resenting an expose, yet to date
though cache of cash nearly catapulted
thine scarred father qua taken
for a fool from master bait
ting hucksters drove pliant
psyche of pop into panic depeche mode

I would retrospectively ask “Dad,
how can I HELP”? The answer eye knowed
Even though funds within checking
and/or saving would be far to little oven off load

(to assist with month bills), the mere inquiry
would usher and possibly staunch explode
ding demeanor per father, and (hoop fully)
evince selflessness within Harris abode.












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