I.
will.
not.
write.
love.
sick.
po.
e.
try.
when.
in.
Ms.
Luv.
lie’s.
phy.
sics.
class.
Printable View
I.
will.
not.
write.
love.
sick.
po.
e.
try.
when.
in.
Ms.
Luv.
lie’s.
phy.
sics.
class.
Congrats, Wolf! And YesNo, I did actually send her this very letter! <3
That was a great letter, Pendragon! The fact that you actually sent it to someone makes it even more delightful. I hope she enjoyed it as much as I did.
I'll compete too.
Winds heave, we collapse
into melody - a ruined sound
hanging from invisible hands
the unchallenged drift
of a dry river
my memories course against
my skin, they live
in that nude stream
approached by weather incompatible
with anyone but itself,
carefully disrobing.
Prelude - The wonderful, awkward adolescence of Penelope Silence and her books (feat. THE almighty Philip p Stone) (number eight) (intro)
My mothers always told me to always wash my
hands and pray for better days; honey dippin' smoke
and the internet; y'all can say anything here.
I did it all for love and my best friend; i love
being sad and feeling alive; i wish i had
something to say and i wish i had a belt so
my pants would stop falling down to crewcut skinhead
underground ska; playing records in battle for
those hipster girls; i love you Lucy and your
diamonds, lets fly! Ten minutes later: blackout school
catharsis; (saxophone plays here); think right, do right.
Relude - Penelope Silence and the Pseudo-intellectual Symphony Orchestra (i am smarter than you are) (skit)
Tell me the ways of the world, oh wise man of
individual collectivity; be who
you are, but only the way i tell you to be.
Go and read EIGHT, but don't tell anyone; keep it
quiet; i think he's a terrorist, but only
because he's black; how can the worker survive if
only to serve others? Tell me Wolf, who are you?
INDIVIDUALISM! COMMUNISM! Which
is it? Advantage Gardening in the daytime
or sun shining down on those who are; turn back
and forth, rocking on a chair and rolling down a
mountain chasing gold only sought after by fools.
One day the world will finally go mad and then
only memory will serve to preserve the old
sanity of the past age; i need others to
tell me what to think, but only because its in
the Bible or in the Koran or the Pali
Canon; Mohammed sure could self-publish! But then
again i don't know anything for any grand
certainty except that i am me and you aren't.
(insert sax solo at the end for no reason)
I - The infamous pure fiction of Penelope Silence: first movement
Rails of naked bodies lined up against
a wall of wine bottles shooting orange dots falling
off a horse running into a collage of french
skeletons sharing the bare nipples of a nun
with red hair sipping his evening soup and watching
a tour of eyes, fast cars and fake hair; like a blank
miracle, building the eighth tune to please the blue
conception of a being floating superbian
religion, which says anything about the pains
of being Eliot Cuff and trying to write
a looming super honest modern creation.
Jumping off a chair into broken glass covered
in white skin, frosting and the image of a small
erection rising and falling to the waves of
a soft viola playing over the crowds stood
together violently constructing a building
held together by the smooth feeling of human
feces running down the face of a soldier who
fought on the beaches of Gernika wretched in the
chaos of existence; tomorrow? tomorrow!
Burning strings, lost children and genocide coming
tomorrow to kill a dead mouse holding a full
hand of Venetian canals stuck in a barn made
of doors crying to a choir of extremely
sane elegance rotating in a similar
direction fictionalizing philosophy.
II - The complete and relaxed ideas of Penelope Silence and her cat Vincent (incomplete)
Electric belleville Madeleine caught in the barbed
emptiness of Commerce, Texas; roman temple
hit running between Mississippi and the good
city of Chicago; tonight the shotgun queen's
birthday/wedding/funeral and emporium; a
movie star's sexual desire for more new
antique pianos playing nothing for all to
hear sitting in their graves high above the flowers
scattering the concrete beliefs of a catholic
priest conflicted by her love of God and romance
novels involving CIA conspiracies
taught to children enslaved in the once upon a
time of family vacations; i love you flying
bicycles over concrete better than any
car or anyone else; France's and the England
raining up a yellow wall sat behind a ginge
and her funny faces; that f u c king folk music!
II.5 - The good intentions of Penelope Silence concerning an ex-convict wandering the suburbs (interlude) (that's love)
A dark oblivion diving into a white
city of cathedrals and coke bottles spewing
hatred for those who are different irregardless
of the houses built on cliffsides driven by old
people who don't let their right hand know what their left
hand is doing; I'm circling trees blown away
by hurricanes after drowning in a bubbler.
III - The long and eternally endless odyssey of Penelope Silence, her cat Vincent and the City of Chicago, Illinois: final movement
I've worked at a Cracker Barrel for fifteen years,
not counting that one month in 1994 when
I got lost in the midst of my ex-girlfriend's
endless red hairy nipples and that other time
when i did not leave my apartment except to
publicly masturbate occasionally and
to s h i t on the front porch of this prick insurance
agent who used to live across the street from my
great grandmother; I would read more often, but I
am a red balloon caught in an apple tree with
nothing to do but hum heavy metal songs to
myself and wait for the firetrucks to show up
to this party with farm animals and some
strippers, hopefully; fingers crossed; don't fly away
without calling home first to tell your mother how
much you love and appreciate her; in a black
and white suit carrying little green bags full of
mister Pink's diamonds; tell me where i went wrong in
my life and i will do anything i can to
fix it and go back to working at Cracker Barrel.
IV - Penelope Silence No. 4
Sexualizing the journey of a taxi
cab in the middle of the night by vomiting
through the hole in the bottom of the car ending
up wearing someone else's clothes and in someone
else's bed; Albert Einstein walks through a cat door
stepping over an obese woman covered in
sheets biting the ear of a whale washed up on
shore next to a diver; office space religion.
Sitting in church with panda bears smoking bongs for
Jesus circling the unseen, but starving art
of a Klingon prostitute paid for by the Koch
Brothers and viewers like you; tennis in the street
played by Doctor London and his all transvestite
brass band; I'm afraid that the muppets will follow
through with their threats to revolt and replace our state
with the state of liquid matter in time for the rain.
V - Penelope Silence's last will and testament (number five) (skit)
I love kissing you under the bleachers, but it's
only because of your cute mind; i do hereby
bequeath my entire collection of eight tracks
to my good friends on my family tree and to those
nights i crave taco bell in the morning after
feeling bitter about twitter and trying to
get rid of these headaches i hate; and moving on
towards the end of this tunnel that seems to end in
the middle of the movie; i can never get
enough of Emma Watson; one of my favorite
hipster girls; all dried up in the desert sun
with somewhere to go and carry on with my life
in another state; Chicago in May; we used
to go to Navy Pier in the summer before
we grew up and left to write our own most tragic
comedies including embarrassment and some
confusing lustful feelings for that other girl.
VI - Symphony No. 25 in 6 Minor (Penelope Silence cover)
Don't buy in subtitles; we only speak in engrish
in this country; and we love the feel of a fresh
santorum on a sunny november morne; come
home already, i cant deal with you being
away from me without your trumpets sounding the
end of times; I've got tree huggers following me
around my head and into the house; dirty socks.
VII - Penelope Silence's opinion concerning the annexation of Zone C
A hive full of latex caught in a room full of
atheists; #ilostmymollie; a world full
of first world problems and indifference for
East Timor; Venetian gondolas cruising down
the Avenue des Champs-Elysees on a cold
winter's day in July; only love is on the
move and she is only the moon; i finally watched
City Lights; beauty in cinema; party like
its 1931 and you cant see the one
you love; give flowers to those you care about and
to those you don't; a beautiful white haired girl
from Wales and a temperamental girl from
Chicago fall together on top of an old
Volkswagen van; tell me when it's all over cuz
i would very much like to visit Bethlehem.
VIII - Penelope Silence reads EIGHT out loud to the Republican National Convention
Oh babe, come back here and tell me
the story of that town Eight, West
Virginia; the one named Django
pulling his own coffin down the
snowy middle way hoping to
find a pot of gold; caught in a
storm of blue sickness without an
eight fold path showing the way home.
IX - Penelope Silence yells at the top of her lungs and then dives head first into the OCEAN
I wrote this in my hand to the sparks in the sky
so i could see a candle blow out; there's magic
in everyday objects which only we can see.
Floor beats and vacuums on Grafton Street played only
once on that misty summer morning; sun shining
through the clouds, the bluest sky I've ever seen in
my life, or possibly ever; i will live for
an eternity; i refuse to let death come
and follow me through the Waste seeking what he can't
ever have; i am a spirit on fire with
eyes that can see through air and forever into
the nighttime seeking out the fallen mountain town.
X - a Concerto for Piano: Penelope Silence runs home to Ithaca to make popcorn
Every time you undress me i run home to look
up at the sky and wonder what went so wrong that
i couldn't find my way somewhere on the avenue.
Sirens in the night, trains rolling over tracks from
the midwest; a space odyssey at the end of
the world in Turkey riding a wooden horse
into the city; blind poets writing for you
to hopefully one day learn from the myths of the
past and pray to pagan angels at the feet of
Johnny Hamlet's kitchen and Joan Arkin's bible.
Tell me all you know about spaghetti and dirt,
for when the great silence fall over the land and
Aeneas finds his new city on seven hills
a new world will begin and forever change
the course from nine wholes to eighteen; maybe with this
new start humanity can go back to the lake
Victoria with pieces distance never dreamt.
XI - Enkidu sings a song about Penelope Silence - acoustic
Gold man walking through the desert to rescue Han
from his carbonite prison to end up bringing
down the empire built by King Gilgamesh in
land between two rivers; a paradise in the
east of eden where language began on the top
of the tower being built towards heaven; this is
Alexander's resting place; pilgrims come from all
over each on their adventures toward the Aldgate
and soon to Canterbury; a Miller's tale
of beer and Harley's; tell me a story and i
will hold you still and show you the grave of the great
bard resting on the Avon; a hero journeys
to the end of the story to find what the
Krabby Patty secret formula is finally.
XII - Roman Carnival Overture - Penelope Silence takes in a panorama of the south of France from atop a moving train
Dreaming a wicked nightmare of the Tsar and
his cortege at Versailles while sleeping face down
on Fashion street pretending to be a new weird
american solitary whale working
on a wizard farm in the lonely Nebraskan
depression; turning the other cheek is not an
act of submissiveness, but instead an act of
disobedience, which would make Eve proud of all
those who came after her; for creativity
is an absolute and nothing is off limits,
not even rhyming; do not ever take the bait
in front of your face, which leads to the worst of hate.
XIII - Penelope Silence live at Red Rocks (studio version)
Treat yo mamma with respect, don't drag her down a
ragged mile, but a Magnificent Mile!
Glory to god, the original creator,
poet, painter, musician; for we are the old
melodies of creation vibrating on the
strings of pure energy which make up our minds and
our souls; god gave us a theme with which to play out
loud for all to hear in the parks built around the
universe; the role of the poet is to take
that which is old and make new; to confer onto
our new creations the melodies of creation.
XIV - Penelope Silence takes The Long Way around
A solitary explorer tacks her way through
the sea on her way to Aotearoa in the
middle of december; a vagabond on the
open ocean seeking solitude and friendship
with wrathful Neptune; a pancake is all it takes.
Pray to the wind and follow the sun because i
am happy at sea and perhaps it will save my soul.
Epilogue - Penelope Silence and Karl Marx fall at the same speed (77 rpm) - Instrumental
I hate socialism; the collective violence
of the mob doesn't shine through the clouds; thank god I'm
alive! Yesterday i became a new old soul
vegetarian while walking down the street in
the opposite way trying to decide whether
I like you or stress more, anxiety or a
depression; reflecting on the good and the bad
pieces; no reason to cry over spilt beer, there's
only spilt blood; this is the best day of my life!
Also, i hate capitalism; i want what
you have; what i cant have; happyness and upset
stomach puking vulgarities for no reason.
Even meaningless art has a deeper meaning.
Try not to choke on an Advil or fall down
the stairs and land on top of my dead cat, Vincent.
I'm Chance and I'm very, very lonely; you all
need to lose your entertaining paranoia
and undependable empty footprints stood in
bitterness and unending acid rains and thieves.
Repilouge - Penelope Silence speaks out against Chancelor Bennett (Outro) (radio edit) (blue suitcase version)
I love Drugs! I am in love with Mollie Greene who
tells me what to do *** how to speak to my friends
in downtown Des Plaines, none of whom could recite the
holy scripture thats tells people to cry for
the lonely and pray for *** lost autumn recluse
astronaut comedians from Second City.
I'm Chance and you're Penelope Silence; don't you
see or are you too blind and stuck in a cup?
I apologize for not being there at the end of the first contest. I am such an infrequent vistor here, that i completely forgot about entering the contest in the first place. I am honored by your praise and thank you. Here's a new one!
I will not be able to judge this contest.
My apologies. I will not be able to judge this contest fairly, because one of the entrants into this contest has been stalking me all over this Internet site, and harassing me with endless redbaiting, even though my posts have nothing to do with politics.
Therefore, I will have to dismiss myself as judge of this contest. My apologies.
Toss that person's poem out. They are acting unprofessionally. Judge the others. Simple, really.
Yeah, let's not be too hasty here, Wolf. The contest isn't closed yet anyway.
i have broken no rule. To the best of knowledge, it is not against the rules of this forum to express an opinion which is critical of another member's opinion. It appears to be okay to threaten castration of other members here and/or people not members of this site, but it appears to be illegal to criticize communism/capitalism. If you don't want feedback, then don't post your work here. This is not Wolf Larsen's personal soapbox and I'm have equal right to express my opinion on any thread posted here. This is not a "professional" forum, this is for amateur literature enthusiasts. I request that Wolf Larsen's famous Castration post be deleted and I will be reporting my concerns to a moderator.Quote:
Originally Posted by Pendragon
I just want this to be repeated.Quote:
Originally Posted by WolfLarsen
I've been mum about certain things as much as possible. But sometimes it's important to speak out. And this is one of those times.
You know what I was just thinking: perhaps one of the reasons that there are so few entrants into an "avant-garde poetry contest" is that so many people with unique/experimental writing styles have been chased away from this literary board over the years.
Perhaps it was far worse before in some ways. But I remember being excited when I would click on some thread and find some unusual writing, but then there were certain individuals who made such hostile comments. The comments weren't even like they didn't like the writing, they were just downright mean, it was like cyber-bullying.
Many of those who contributed unique writing to this posting board left. They were made to feel unwelcome here.
I kept posting anyway, despite the cyber bullying. And some of them could get away with cyber bullying for some reason, but if you even made the comment that their behavior was ignorant, you had points taken away.
There is a difference between making a critical comment about somebody's writing, and cyber bullying. If every single person on this site were to say they don't like your writing, there's nothing wrong with that. But the cyber bullying that goes on here is at times out of control.
But anyway, I know why there is not more entrants into this avant garde poetry contest. Those people were chased away by cyber bullying.
I'm one of the few left that does not write conventionally, and kept posting here, because I have a thick skin. I've been through stuff way worse than cyber bullying.
Who knows if I'll even be a part of this posting board come August 15, which is the deadline for entries. There's so much censorship one can hardly breathe. I never know when I sign in whether I'm good to be banned or not because of the censorship. And now I've been sticking a warning before every piece of writing that could possibly make someone with a puritanical mentality uncomfortable. It's like you have to censor yourself all the time. It's disgusting. No wonder so many people who had some unique writing to contribute voted with their feet. The censorship, the cyber bullying, and now there's nobody to contribute some unique writing.
I wish I knew where all those people who contribute unique writing to this board over the years went. I would go there too.
i don't want you banned. I want you to judge my poem as well as the other entrants of this contest and determine a winner. I am sorry if my comments came across as "cyber-bullying", but offence was defiantly intended and I do not take back a single letter. I don't like coercion of any sort, especially the sort that involve threats of violence.Quote:
Originally Posted by WolfLarsen
"Do whatever you want!"
Nobody's ever threatened this person.Quote:
Originally Posted by HCabret
Defamation of character
Who is this HCabaret?
I wish he would just leave me alone.
It just gets creepier and creepier.
your poetry is creepy and so are your threats of castration. I don't know who hCabaret is either. But I heard that HCabret dude is pretty nice.Quote:
Originally Posted by WolfLarsen
I have reported your posts threatening violence upon other people and fully intend to see that they are deleted.
8 years of this and you were taken down my me. Hahahahahahaha. You are a shame to the avant garde.
I agree with Pendragon and qimissung. You'll be a good judge of this contest.Quote:
Originally Posted by WolfLarsen
I concur with this.Quote:
Originally Posted by YesNo
Speaking of banning, were I a moderator you'd be gone. There's no excuse for your attitude!Quote:
Originally Posted by HCabret
Warning
Off topic or inflammatory remarks will be removed without notice. No further discussion of this topic, henceforth.
The Road Not Ken: Ta !
Two Wily Lions Raged; Add Overdo Woe.
Brace Thy Void And Roll Not Torus
And Let Song To Aerie Born... Loved
Foul Kin Doodled. So Sad. Can Aeon War ?
Whir There Green Newt Thou Tot. Bind.
Fresh Jest Took Euthanasia Troth.
Angels Cheat Them In Braved Harp Pit.
Wisest Wry Dada Aurae Cast Gnawn Bees.
Fog Tethers Truth; Agape Hath His Son.
Heed Holy Alabaster Haunt Met Worm.
Godly Atabal Hymn Halt Requin Not.
Old Plinked Seventh Sonata Braced
Hot Pithy Fork; Fainthearted Rose.
Know The Snowy Wooly Nit Adage Way.
Idiot Dude Loves Ecofreak Chum Bib.
Hah ! Gilt Light Wins; Bathes Lilies.
Sages Emerge When Aeon Chased;
Raged Dada Died. In Orison Two Vow -
Nevertheless, Look ! Deity Boat !
Lead Fleet Defends Mantra Itch. Haha !............................. "And that has made all the difference" ref: http://allpoetry.com/The-Road-Not-Ta....ACk82dfc.dpuf
8/15/2014
Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY
Thank you everyone for competing in the avant-garde poetry contest.
Well, it certainly has been interesting.
I announce the winner to be Lykren. Congratulations!
He won with the following poem:
Winds heave, we collapse
into melody - a ruined sound
hanging from invisible hands
the unchallenged drift
of a dry river
my memories course against
my skin, they live
in that nude stream
approached by weather incompatible
with anyone but itself,
carefully disrobing.
Wow! Thank you Wolf! And thanks to everyone who competed, all the poems were definitely pretty interesting and avant-garde! :)
Alright, I guess we'll continue the contest in this thread. So, the style will continue to be 'avant-garde' (a term I'll define as being "in a style unusual enough to be surprising and even shocking"), and the theme will be:
emotionless motion.
Good luck! The deadline is set to be September 16th, a month from today. I will do my best to judge it on time.
what is emotionless motion?
a movement without a feeling??
That's it! But, this being a rebellious, avant-garde contest, you can really write about whatever you please.
thank you Lykren. :)Quote:
Originally Posted by Lykren
Emotion Motion, What a Notion...
Heartbeat of American, emotionless machine
Nightly rides the Nightmare crushing hope and dreams
A mirage in the desert, photographed and still unreal
Emotions move through motions like a carnival barker's spiel
Emotion moves within concrete canyons, chased by bogus words
Sand, fantasy, and moonbeams, shiny but unheard
The rhythm of emotion moves along a winding stream
Reflections in a mirrored glass, illusion always on the scene
Dark thoughts and darker voices, spiel of vicious hate
Tongues seared by flaming words loose all sense of taste
Animated skeletons pretending emotion sets them free
Beneath the shroud is emptiness, emotion sets its teeth
Vision blinded by bitter memory, wishing one could forget
Emotion still in motion spinning tires in slick grass
We dig our graves with our tongues, dunce cap on upon a stool
Emotion is a heartless b***h, draining life and making fools...
Pendragon
(C) 8/17/2014
We have some time left, but we need a lot more competitors, please!
Going south on I-65 north of Lowell I pointed out to Alice a billboard
with white letters on a black background reminding us that “HELL
IS REAL” but she was more interested in why I refused to put
a period in my poetry except at the very end and I told her it’s
because I didn’t want to and since I was the one writing it I could
do what I wanted and she reminded me that she was the only
one reading it and if she wanted a period every now and then I
better give her periods and she said I was making her mad and
I got the silent treatment alternated with unsilent hell and I figured
since we were on a long trip we might as well get along and so
I put one in just like this . and asked her if she was happy now.
Thanks YesNo! But we still need more.
Eh, I'll see if the spirit moves me. Although I don't think I have an avant garde bone in my body, sadly. BTW, congrats, Lykren, on winning the last contest! It was a great poem.
what is avant garde
if not a bard
initiating
hard
a spin on a poet's
card?
a sudden motion
soft but
sullen
emotionless
solo
against
the torrid
devotion
of connotative
versus debilitation
words
speak
the litterateur
breach
but does not
concern
and
the message
emerge:
write as you
stir or spur
and the rest
should myrrh.
Okay, time's up! Thank you all for competing, though *ahem* I wish you more of you had. Although maybe that speaks more to my skill as an organizer than anything else. Anyways, I will now announce the winner! And the winner is
...
YesNo! Whose poem had a quiet humor to it. Thank you very much for the honor of judging, folks. Looking forward to the contest hosted by YesNo. Here is the winning poem once again:
Now:
Going south on I-65 north of Lowell I pointed out to Alice a billboard
with white letters on a black background reminding us that “HELL
IS REAL” but she was more interested in why I refused to put
a period in my poetry except at the very end and I told her it’s
because I didn’t want to and since I was the one writing it I could
do what I wanted and she reminded me that she was the only
one reading it and if she wanted a period every now and then I
better give her periods and she said I was making her mad and
I got the silent treatment alternated with unsilent hell and I figured
since we were on a long trip we might as well get along and so
I put one in just like this . and asked her if she was happy now.
Congrats, YesNo! I liked your poem.
I did write one, Lykren, I just didn't think it fit very well in this contest. I'm looking forward to the next one.
Thank you, Lykren! And thanks, qimissung!
I hesitate to add a theme, because I don't want to restrict any entries. So, any theme will do. The only requirement is that it be "avant-garde".
Deadline: October 8th, 3 weeks from now.
Ha ha. Congratulations Yes/No.
Thanks, Delta40. I think you should be able to write some pretty good avant-garde poetry, whatever avant-garde poetry is.
Congrats. YesNo!
Thanks, Pendragon.
I wonder how to promote this competition. Maybe chanting helps: "avant-garde, avant-garde, avant-garde".
CHICAGOLAND
BY ELLIOT CUFF
I - LOLLAPALOOZA
Standing under the Bean waiting for her to come
and find me; she sits on my shoulders in front of
the stage; her voice scorched with a burning desire.
Wandering above the mist she raises her hands
to the starry night sky; a billion stars shine through
a trail that fades across the crowd into what
was once an urban apotheosis; I am
now forever lost in the barrenness of this
city; I can't help but watch this little boy
cry while riding the train on my way home; I don't
even feel bad; cream of wheat and bible study.
I wonder if that guy's a serial killer.
My home's not ****ty, but the suburbs are; Maine's not
all that far away; she has even more beauty
in the moonlight; there is no going home tonight.
Adventure is afoot; there is no sight like the
city at night from Seer's tower; no sound like at
the Warehouse; and no feeling like the one I get
when I run down your Magnificent Mile while
tripping on Mollie; come on! and feel the Illinoise!
II – THE CITY OF DESTINY
A Paris street on a rainy day looking out
over the bay in Marseilles; a little girl
and her friends spend this Sunday afternoon at the
end of summer wandering this American
city marred with gothic beauty unlike any
other in the world; an old guitarist sits
in his red armchair playing the blues that built this city.
Looking out at the lake I can’t help but get lost
in the waves I found you in; while I met you in
London my mind will always be here; you really
piss me off sometimes, but I love you all the same.
I know you love another more, but you're all I
think about; you have a soulful fire burning
within and music playing endlessly in your
head; I worry that you won’t find your way home but
Maine's not that far away; I promise to show you
mountains and then we can go back to Skye; you live
in Chicago a thousand miles away and
a million years apart; some say that all noble
things are touched by melancholy; well they can suck it!
III - SOCK & FOX
Clueless rage laments my sullen eyes rolling down
the hill chasing after the backwards beast; we drove
to Milwaukee to cure us of the fog along
Wisconsin glaciers melting into the lake
called Michigan; surfing fresh water in July.
Dreaming of a long time ago when all I had
was balance and a skateboard; a fool's paradise
full of speaking tongues and drinking lemonade; she
works at Burger King spitting on onion rings and
praying to the wrong gods; this road we're on is full
of promises from a deathless king who doesn't
live; the simplest things in the Waste elude my
grasp; elegant late summer showers fall on our
heads and big shoulders; she's dying of bone cancer.
Bright white heaven hanging over the streets and the
sometimes green backwards river; at last there's a blue
sea greater than the problems blanked lucky undo.
I'm jealous of you; you have lost worry and have
nothing but road in front of you; an empty
asphalt canvas waiting for color to paint its way.
Thanks, HCabret! Now to get the other avant-garde poets to compete with this!
Swarming like children
around the irregular surface
of a stream, around lost
currents and through
windows full of
ugly shades,
glints of the next day
congeal into predawn.
This is the heritage
of the days we shake
ourselves into acknowledging
the murk and eclipse
of self’s other self
as the hundred
clocks cry morning