Prismatic color schemes on a plate of picnic beans.
The order depends on how you look at it.
The next installment in projecting words where they usually don’t appear.
Up and down and up that same hill.
Walking. Walking. Walking…
The wide sweep of planets that beguile me
Shook off the alarm clock shock and walked with zombies on the mall promenade until the oblong paradox unlocked itself and
a context of wet sands
What hierarchy / suggests / your impending / fruitions?
to me you are / dark sky moon / you are too bright to fully consume / oh you pull at me / through & thru
poor books, / I will pick you / up off the carpet / one day
This writing is less the craft heavy and prosody poised work that keeps process hidden behind closed doors of the poet’s writing studio and their intellectual hesitance, and more the freestyle, live over home-made beats push for moments of flow.
I have this project or idea, it’s where I take an overhead projector to various places and write out poems, essays, flash fiction and other writing.
might / watch / the Matrix Trilogy & / drink / a 2 litre
… moment spent beside / the self upon which my / self wrests presented / me with such an alarm / I could not //