In Seventeen Syllables Always

I’ve lived five, seven, five syllables at a time in parts away from home. A truncated treatise to mundane epiphanies. To a lively smoke break until someone turns in from the cold. To breaking the agreements we made on our birthdays. To the modern environment made lofty. To the wisdom of shared realization. I.S.S.A is for those who hate reading but love appearing intellectual. For those who love to travel as a comely misanthrope. And, for those who are of this generation but find mobile devices burdensome. Simple poetry for the simply exquisite. Answering the questions with travelling in Asia connotations. Ignoring all rules except in seventeen syllables always. Remember I’m not showing I’m telling.