Poetry anytime

Every poet is hungry

Hungry for beans

Hungry for cheese

Baguette, new pair o’ jeans

Hungry for eyes and

soft skin and smells of

perfume or cologne or clove

And there they come

in droves

right now

LOOK!

All hungry to be seen and heard

Don’t you see them?

Just take a glance around

Hungry, hungry poets

everywhere

 

Hungry Hungry Poets

Aside
Poetry anytime

The hang up is
There’s just not enough time

Everything requires a degree of commitment
if only for the night

Morrison had it right:
We want the world and we want it now

Don’t cry
We do have it

Each morning, there it is!
right under your feet

Again again again
Now, what was the question?

Revelations at 87mph

Quote

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From the novel, Literature

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All things mental, Life and stuff

Still alive & sanity check mid-’15

It has been awhile since I’ve posted, but I assure you that I’m still alive, in every which way.

Things are going as they should. I wake up, find my arms and legs in place; face, cheekbones, chirping oiseaux outside the window. They sound happy, and I save the sound for sad times.

The washing machine; well-oiled and working. It whirs and I temporarily forget the birdsong. The whizzing traffic of metropolitan Europe is no different in this regard. I hear sounds only to forget others.

Sometimes, just before dozing into balmy oblivion, I catch my own sounds: beyond sticky blinks, throbbing chest, and measured breaths. Songs of my thoughts and sounds of their echoed endings, leaving me to muse in the choppy Memory Stew that dreams so often are.

I wake up, sifting through the pieces, as we so often do.

Nothing.

Oiseaux.

Breath.

Still alive.

This has been a routine sanity check.

It is only a check.

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